


Guiding light

by XxWolfgirl2846xX



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Evil Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Hurt Merlin (Merlin), M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Merlin's Neckerchief (Merlin), Prince Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Uther Pendragon's A+ Parenting (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:07:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 47,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27645919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxWolfgirl2846xX/pseuds/XxWolfgirl2846xX
Summary: Merlin wished for nothing more than his bed as he finally left the banquet hall. He had spent the entirety of the day as Arthur's punching bag or running around delivering remedies from Gaius. Then, of course, there was the banquet itself and Merlin would have been fine if he hadn't been asked to stay behind and help clean up. Now, he was simply exhausted.He made his way across the courtyard and yawned when he suddenly saw one of the statues on the balcony lean over. The stone cracked and broke, toppling over the edge.He looked down, spotting the son of a nobleman sitting on the steps. The boy was maybe 11 years old. He didn't see the statue. He sat there throwing pebbles at a larger rock, unaware of the block of stone above him.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 80
Kudos: 293





	1. Chapter 1

The prince reminded himself that he must just be having a bad day. Though, this being the 14th such reminder that morning was frustrating, to say the least. He walked swiftly across the courtyard and to the physician's chambers. Gaius would know where his idiot of a servant was. He can’t just go off and disappear on Arthur for days at a time, he should know this by now.  


The prince had let it slip the first day since he knew Merlin was requested to stay behind after the banquet to help clean up and the day after that Merlin usually went out to the forest to gather fresh herbs and whatnot for Gaius. But it had been 4 days since he’d last seen a trace of the boy.  
He knocked on the door leading to the physician’s chambers and waited for a reply before entering.  


The old man bowed his head, standing on shaky legs, clutching a blue handkerchief  
“Gaius, can you please tell me where the hell Merlin has run off to this time?” Arthur asked agitatedly.  
It was only when the man rose from his bow that the prince spotted his puffy, red eyes and the frown on his lips. Grief melted onto the old man’s features as his eyes glistened with tears.  


“Gaius? What’s wrong?” Arthur approached, worried for the man he had known all his life. But Gaius merely stumbled back, almost as if he were afraid.  
Arthur reached out and guided the physician to sit on one of the chairs next to the table, crouching down to look him in the eye.  
“Gaius.” Arthur tried to will the man to answer him but for a while, there was nothing but the sound of stifled sobs rocking Gaius' body.  
“Gaius, please. What is going on? Tell me.”  


Finally, the man looked up, tears falling from his eyes as he clutched a handkerchief in his trembling fingers.  
“Merlin.” The man’s voice sounded weary and broken and Arthur suddenly felt a wave of freezing heat rush over him.  


“What Gaius? What’s wrong?”  
“I’m terribly sorry, sire. We did not mean to deceive you, but we could not speak the truth for fear.”  


Arthur places both his hands on the man’s shoulders, steadying him in his seat.  
“Gaius, what happened to Merlin?”  
Confusion swept in, onto Gaius’ face. The man’s brow furrowed as if he was suddenly awoken from a daydream and he found himself in a completely unfamiliar location.  
“I thought you knew.”  


“You thought I knew what, Gaius?” Arthur pressed.  
Gaius’ gaze breaks from Arthurs for a second before returning. The man’s eyes show grief and sorrow in their truest form.  
“Merlin was arrested on suspicion of sorcery after the banquet 4 nights ago. I received word today, from Guinevere, that he has confessed under the strain of torture. The king will pass his judgement soon and Merlin will be burned at the stake.” Gaius’ voice wavered as he tried to apologise more but he broke down again. The man could no longer contain his emotions and by the time he had regained enough composure to take a breath, Arthur was storming to the dungeons.  


The guards call after him, but Arthur pays them no mind as he rushes down the steps.  
Arthur stalks through the dungeons in search of the dark-haired boy. He spots one of the doors to the cells standing open and quickly makes his way to it only to find it empty.  


Arthur can feel anger building in his chest at the sight of Merlin’s blue neckerchief tossed aside. Arthur crouches down to pick up the piece of cloth, his breathing sounding loudly in his own ears as he makes note of the red stains on the fabric. A dry, unbelieving sob leaves the prince’s mouth and just as quickly as he entered, he leaves for the throne room.  
Arthur doesn’t wait for the guards to open the doors for him he pushes them open himself, making them clang loudly.  
His eyes fall on Merlin’s form, his thin frame trembling under the hands of his captors as his father speaks the last words of the sentence that is to befall the boy.  
“-to death, by means of fire”  


“Merlin!” Arthur shouts  


The prince rushes forward, falling to his knees in front of his servant and praying that the boy’s eyes will hold his own as he raises Merlin’s head.  
He hardly hears his father’s voice behind him as he takes in what Merlin was put through. Arthur can only see his servant’s face, but he can’t even imagine how much pain he endured for him to have these wounds.  


“You’ll be alright, Merlin. I’ll get you out, I promise. I won’t let them do this- “  
Arthur is pulled away from Merlin by two guards as Merlin gets dragged out the door. He can’t resist as his head lulls back with only a single word quietly leaving his lips.  
“Arthur”  


The prince turns to his father, yelling for him to see reason.  
“You can’t do this, father! I trust Merlin. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”  
Uther simply walks towards his throne, ignoring his son’s plea.  
“You will release Merlin, right now.” Arthur threatens, “Or I will- “  


“You will what? Boy. He confessed to sorcery. The law states that he m- “  
“I would have confessed to sorcery being in that state." Arthur can hardly believe his father’s blindness. "Have you looked at him? You’ve broken him! You could get him to confess being the devil himself at this point! How are you so ignorant? How- how can you stand there and talk about nobility and justice while you. You have tortured an innocent boy into agreeing to his own death!” Arthur accused  


Uther’s gaze sharpens, anger seeping through his carefully put together mask of indifference. His son’s words make his ears ring in fury.  
“I will hear no more of you Arthur.”  
“Yes!” Arthur shouts at him while stepping closer. “Yes, you will hear me, father. You will listen to me, for once in your miserable cold life, you will listen to reason! Merlin is not an evil sorcerer. I will bet my very soul on that.”  


“Then you’re a fool!” Uther shouts back.  
“He was seen using magic by multiple people. He failed to murder a young boy in the courtyard after the banquet. In plain view! The sorcerer will be burned at the stake tomorrow at noon and that is final.”  


Arthur’s knuckles turn white with the strength of his fingers clutching Merlin’s neckerchief. His breathing is uneven and his eyes, filled with nothing but unbridled hatred, stare back at the king  
“Now get out of my sight before I start to believe the sorcerer enchanted you.” Uther dismisses as he turns away from his son.  
Arthur clenches his mouth shut, knowing he won’t be able to help Merlin if he too is thrown in a cell. And, by the Gods, he will help his friend. 

Arthur briskly walks to his chambers, groaning when he sees two guards following him, and slams the door shut behind him. He paces his room, trying to think of something. Anything. He has to get Merlin out of Camelot.  
His raving thoughts waver for a moment when Arthur realises that he is holding Merlin’s neckerchief against his mouth in thought. He can feel the prickling sensation of helplessness stinging his eyes. Sucking in a breath of air he shakes it off.  


Arthur paces the length of his chambers in thought. His eyes widen as an idea finally starts to take form, looking like it might work.  


He pulls open the door to his chambers, slightly startling the guards.  
“I don’t feel well. Send for the court physician, immediately.”  
With that, he slams the door closed once more and walks to his bed. 

He crouches down and reaches for the backpack Merlin has put there.  
‘I think some permanent preparation is warranted seeing as how often we get ourselves into trouble, and this way we only need to get the food next time you want to run off somewhere.’ He had said with his dorky smile and his eyes full of mischief. 

Arthur pulls the backpack from underneath the bed and lays it on top. Merlin had made several of these. With clothes, and blankets and such.  
Arthur knew of three other people besides him and Merlin who had one of these ‘emergency packs’, namely Gaius, Guinevere and Morgana. Of course, Merlin would go out of his way to do something like this without ever telling them about it. But he did tell Arthur.  


The prince quickly packs another bag with a few daggers he’d hidden in his room, a small crossbow and its arrows, a ripped shirt to use for cloth and a few other things he thought might come in handy when on the run from knights of Camelot.  
He would ensure they wouldn’t get caught though. Arthur trained these men. He knew exactly how and where they would search and if push came to shove, he knew how they fought.  


The door opens and Gaius walks in with a polite greeting.  
“Gaius. Sit down. Listen.”  
The old man does as he is told, grateful for the offer.  
“We have to get Merlin out of Camelot.”  
“The king has already tripled the sentries and guards near the dungeons. We cannot get to him.”  


Arthur holds back from cursing, instead deciding to kick one his bedposts. The wood splits and splinters, littering the floor.  
“I’m sorry” he sighs, calming down.  


He turns to lean on the table where Gaius is seated  
“Then we’ll have to get him out tomorrow, as he’s being transported. Uther will have him transported from the dungeons to the courtyard in a cage just to make it all the more public.”  
Gaius doesn’t miss the cold hatred in Arthur’s voice as he speaks his father’s name. 

The door opens again, and Morgana enters, followed by Guinevere. “Arthur!” the dark-haired woman calls. She quickly steps forward, begging Arthur to save her friend with tears dripping from her eyes. Guinevere stands to the side, clearly having cried herself.  
“I will, Morgana. But I’m going to need help.”  


Gaius speaks up at this. “I assume we will all be leaving Camelot, then?”  
Each person nods in agreement. “I’m not staying with that monster for another moment.” Morgana spits venomously. Gaius doesn’t miss the faint flare of gold in the woman’s eyes, but her magic didn’t seem to have any effect on the outside world.  
“I just can’t believe it.” Guinevere chips in. “Merlin can’t possibly be evil. He’s a friend to everyone. Just last week he helped repair the houses in the lower towns that were damaged in the storm.”  


“And he sneaks away with leftover food to leave for the hungry. He wouldn’t hurt anyone unless he had no other choice. I can’t possibly believe he tried to kill someone without reason. And he’s not stupid enough to do something so public either.” Morgana states.  


“Yes,” Gaius agrees. “He is more than smart enough not to get caught. It’s a good thing the boy is kind of heart.”  
The room grows silent for a few moments. Suddenly Arthur’s face lights up.  


“I know how we can get him out.”  
They all turn to him expectantly.  
“Okay, first off. Merlin placed bags like these under each of your beds and his own.” Arthur gestures to the bag on his bed.  


“They are filled with clothes, blankets, waterskins and other things we may need. Check them to see if you have everything to make a quick escape. He figured it would help if we ever needed to sneak out of Camelot again.”  
He can see the surprise on their faces, but also appreciation in knowing that Merlin did that.  


Arthur turns to the physician.  
“Gaius. I will give you money to go to the lower town and buy yourself two horses and a carriage. A closed one. Tell Uther you will be leaving after breakfast as you need some time away knowing what will happen to Merlin. He may be a heartless prick but even he can understand the loss of a s-” 

Arthur cuts himself off as Gaius’ eyes water. He swallows thickly, realising that he is in fact correct.  
“A son.” Arthur finishes, looking away. He steels himself, continuing once again.  


“Bring the cart here, underneath my window. We will hide the bags from view, and you can load them in there. That way you’ll also have to pass by the armoury where Guinevere will be ‘cleaning Morgana’s silver’. Load in some weapons and protective garments. Guinevere will know what to bring.” Arthur looks towards the maid, who nods determinedly.  


“What should I do?” Morgana interjects.  
Arthur thinks for a moment.  
“You need to ask Uther to prepare an escort for you. Tell him you and Guinevere do not want to be present when he murders your friend without reason. He will be agitated but he’s used to you being defiant. My father knows you care for the servants, especially your maid and Merlin. He’ll not think anything suspicious of it. Tell him you want to leave at first light with Guinevere and make sure to make a stop along the way every once in a while. Pretend that you need a moment and then hide somewhere. Hide close to Camelot until noon. At that time, the guards will be forced to return for the execution, and you can travel further North. Don’t worry about the horses or weapons. Anything you can take is welcome, but the most important part is that you get away.”  


Guinevere steps forward, her brows furrowed in worry. “But how will you get to Merlin? Uther has placed guards at every corner. You’ll never get to the dungeons.”  
“We don’t,” Arthur says.  


“We’re going to break him out while he’s being transported to the courtyard. I know my father. He’ll want to make this as public as possible.”  
Arthur grabs a scroll from his desk, rolling it out on the table. Everyone closes in around the map of Camelot and watches as Arthur describes the path.  
“He’ll take this back road to go to the lower town and parade the prisoner to get as many people as possible to come and watch the execution and to send a message to anyone who has or knows magic.”  


Morgana looks absolutely disgusted and Arthur can only agree with her, but he continues, nonetheless. He needs to keep a cool head if he wants this plan to work.  
“Our best chance will be when they round this corner.” Arthur places his finger on the map.  
“But that’s almost at the courtyard,” Guinevere says worriedly.  


“I know” The prince sighs. “But I can ambush them from here without the king noticing immediately. Besides, I know people from the lower town will most certainly be angry at Merlin’s execution. If they see me trying to save him, they will come to my aid. I will notify one of my trusted knights to pass on a message in the tavern.”  


“Won’t the people be executed as well for assisting in Merlin’s escape?” Gaius offers sadly.  
His wrinkled hands refolding the cloth in his lap.  
“you’re right, Gaius. I can’t expect them to risk their lives.”  


Guinevere laughs lightly, placing a hand on Arthur’s shoulder and sighing almost happily.  
“They will help Merlin whether you ask them to or not. I know of many things Merlin has done for everyone’s wellbeing and I’m sure I barely know half of it. Give them the message to wait until you’re there but you wouldn’t be able to stop them with all the power in the world.”  
Arthur nods to Guinevere, grateful for her words. He knew Merlin helped people to the point of endangering his own person, but it seems he never realised how much the boy cared for others until then.  


All of Merlin’s silent worried glances to Arthur come rushing into the prince’s mind. All of his have you eaten’s, are you alright’s, be safe’s. Arthur gets hit hard when remembering the fond smile on Merlin’s face whenever the boy insulted him. Prat, Ass, Dollop-head, Clot pole… They were never meant as insults at all.  
Arthur takes a moment to compose himself before continuing to explain what path he would take to get out of Camelot. 

Morgana is tasked with approaching three of the knights of Camelot who knew Merlin well and would be just as angry at Uther. Morgana would approach them as she was leaving for her ride at dawn since two of them would have guard duty together at the gates. They would be requested to help in keeping the gates open for Arthur to pass through.  
The rest of the plan and meeting points were discussed, and Guinevere offered to help Gaius load everything into the carriage. Not long after the two women left the room, loudly discussing how Arthur looked absolutely horrible all of a sudden and they hoped he would get better soon.

Gaius took a few minutes longer to compose himself before speaking up again.  
“Sire.”  
Arthur looks up to the man.  
“I just wanted to thank you, sire.”  
“Nonsense, Gaius”, Arthur shook his head. “Merlin is my closest friend. I will not stand by and watch this happen. My father is crazy to think Merlin of all people would harm someone. I will not abandon him.”  
Tears drip quietly from Gaius' eyes at the prince’s words, which the man wipes away quickly. The physician swallows thickly before nodding his head once more. 

Arthur walks to the cupboard next to his bed, pulling out more than enough money for the horses and a carriage. Gaius takes it and places it in a slot in his satchel.  
“There is one more thing you must know, sire.”  
Arthur looks at the man expectantly.  


“Merlin, he -” He can see Gaius change his mind about what he wants to say.  
“I overheard Uther commanding the guards not to allow Merlin food or drink. I fear he is in terrible shape.”  
Arthur has to force himself, once again, to not do anything rash. Once his anger subsides a bit he sighs in disappointment. How could his father think himself merciful? How could Arthur still believe him to be human at all?  


“I’ll take care of it, Gaius. You have my word. Spew some reminder about following your instructions or something so the guards hear.”  
Gaius leaves, reminding Arthur to take his medicine during dinner and his sleeping draught right before bed. Arthur slams the door in the man’s face in feigned annoyance.  


He waits until after dinner to leave his chambers again. A waterskin was hidden under his tunic and a piece of bread concealed in his sleeve.  
This time Arthur waits for the guards to open the doors to the hall. His father and Morgana have just been served their dinner. Morgana sitting at the table with a rather sour-looking face.  


“Father, I wish to apologise for my behaviour earlier today. I spoke out of turn. It is hard for me to believe that Merlin is a sorcerer.”  
His father doesn’t look up from his plate. “You never want to believe your friends to be enemies.”  
Arthur glances at Morgana who gives him a confused glance.  
“Perhaps, if I could hear his betrayal from his own mouth, it would be easier.”  
The king looks up to his son, who has plastered a mean frown on his face, hoping it will be enough to seem like he’s not doing a very good job at concealing his anger towards his servant.  


“Very well.” The king gives in. Uther waves his hand in a gesture that tells Arthur to go.  
As the prince leaves, he can hear Morgana begin her tirade about how Uther will be murdering one of her closest friends. He can’t help the tiny victorious smile that appears at her conviction before returning his features to stone as he heads to the dungeon.  


It doesn’t take Arthur long to reach the entrance to the dungeons and sure enough, there are more guards than he’s ever seen posted before. He would never be able to get Merlin out of his cell, let alone out of the dungeons  


He walks briskly to Merlin’s cell, tugging at the fabric of the blue neckerchief tied around his wrist.  
The guard opens the cell and Arthur definitely takes note of the way Merlin curls in on himself ever so slightly.  


“Leave us,” Arthur says coldly. He turns to the guards after a few moments.  
“My father promised me privacy in this matter so you will leave us. Now!”  
The guards finally obey the command and move away.  


Arthur steps closer to the boy lying next to the mattress, worry displayed plainly on his features.  
“Merlin.” He says softly as he crouches down, scanning the boy’s body for the severe injuries he knows he must have sustained.  
“Merlin, it’s me. It’s Arthur.” Finally, the prince sees movement as Merlin takes a breath.  


Merlin tries to speak but proves hardly able to get Arthur’s name past his lips. Arthur moves to detach the waterskin from his waist, placing it on the floor next to him. He helps Merlin onto the mattress in the corner hoping it will at least be a bit more comfortable. Merlin’s body leans against the wall as Arthur fetches the waterskin and places the bread on the mattress next to them.  


One of Merlin’s eyes is swollen shut and bruises and cuts litter his face. Blood has dried on his clothes and dirt and sweat matted his hair. Merlin’s hands and fingers are bloody: his knuckles scabbed and bruised, his fingernails torn and two on his left hand are even gone entirely.  
His nose was most certainly broken, and he had bruises covering much of his face. There was a lot of swelling as well as a split lip. Arthur also took note of Merlin’s bare feet and the swelling of his right ankle. Deliberately broken going by the bruising.  


He should be fuming, shouting, and screaming and demanding the people responsible are punished. He should be and perhaps he will be later. But right now he's simply not.  
The only thing on his mind is sorrow and worry for his idiot servant who is barely able to lift his own head.  
“You’ll be okay, Merlin. I’ll make sure of it. Just trust me. You’ll be okay.”  
Arthur grabs the waterskin, telling Merlin that he’ll help him take a drink. Merlin tries to protest this for a few moments but he's too exhausted to keep it up.  


The prince knows Merlin is protecting him again. He wants Arthur to go, leave him, forget him but only to protect him from Uther’s wrath.  
“Oh, come on, don’t be such a prat,” Arthur says in hopes of cheering Merlin up for a moment and feels warmth flowing through him at the small smile playing around Merlin’s lips.

"Okay, here we go." Arthur brings the water skin to Merlin's lips, placing his hand on the side of his servant's neck to help guide him.  
Merlin only manages to take small sips, but Arthur doesn't mind. The relief the water brings is evident in Merlin's body language. Though his short, shallow breaths tell Arthur that Merlin is likely to have broken ribs and the prince dreads the moment Merlin's shirt is removed from his frame to reveal what is sure to be a lot of damage.

They sit in silence for a few moments, allowing Merlin to take some deeper breaths.  
"M' sorry." the raven-haired servant slurs, causing a frown to appear on Arthur's face.  
The prince can see his friend struggling to speak so he decides to bite his tongue for the moment, allowing Merlin the time to say what he wants.

"Is true. I've mag- magic. M' so sorry Arth'r."  
Arthur shakes his head, turning to face Merlin. "No, Merlin. Don't be. It's alright."  
He takes a moment to wipe away Merlin's matted hair from his forehead.  
"I lied." Merlin breathes defeatedly. 

"It's not like you had much of a choice, is it? I'm so sorry for what my father put you through. but I will make it right. You have my word."  
Merlin shakes his head lightly. "Y' shouldn't. S' not worth it."  
"What are you talking about you great buffoon? Of course, it's worth it!"

Something between a breath and chuckle leaves Merlin's lips, followed by a soft 'idiot' before the cell grows quiet once more apart from the uneven, wheezing breaths Merlin forces into his lungs. Arthur moves around Merlin's shuddering frame, pulling him against his body to stop the cold.  
"Will you show me your magic?" Arthur asks tentatively.

Merlin smiles and holds out his hand. Arthur places his hand underneath Merlin's as he sees him shaking from the effort.  
Merlin gives a small sigh, resting his hand in Arthur's palm.

He mutters a simple incantation and out of thin air appears a small orb floating just above his fingertips. A hazy blue light shifts inside of it like sand running through fingers. Arthur immediately recognises it. He should have known. After all, it almost felt like Merlin was right there with him in that cave.

The blonde sighs, knowing that the guards will have had enough soon.  
He'd rather prevent a scene from happening in front of Merlin who is as exhausted as he is pale.

Arthur stammers for a moment before finally managing to get the words spoken.  
"I have to leave now, Merlin. But only for a little while, I promise. I'll get you out of here, don't you worry. I'll come for you in the morning."  
Arthur slips away from Merlin, gently laying him down on the mattress. He leaves the waterskin in Merlin's hands with the suggestion to keep drinking small sips.  
"I left some bread as well if you can manage it."

Before he leaves Arthur removes his second layer of clothing, wrapping it around Merlin's shoulders. He can hardly stand to see his friend in this state, in this place. Tears gather in his eyes once more but he can hear the guards walking down the stairs now.

"I will not let you die, Merlin. Do you hear? I will save you."


	2. Chapter 2

The lady Morgana returned to her chambers stifling sobs and tears trailing down her cheeks. Once the door to her quarters fell shut behind her she regained her composure, wiping away the last of her tears. She moves swiftly to the edge of her bed as she calls out for Gwen.

Of course, her emotions had been real in front of Uther. While her accusations may have been amplified to get a rise out of him, they were still the truth. But it worked like a charm.  
She thanked simple luck for Arthur walking in right before she was to start.

"I'm going to need an escort tomorrow at dawn. I'm going for a ride in the woods with Gwen" she had stated plainly as Arthur walked off.

"No. You will be staying here, Morgana." Uther retorted without a second's hesitation.  
The king's ward feigned surprise at the man's words.  
"With all due respect, sire, I am going for a ride at first light tomorrow whether that is with or without guards."

Uther once again denies the dark-haired woman, saying that he expected her to be present at the execution of the servant boy.  
Morgana stood abruptly, shoving her chair backwards and knocking it over. "I will not stand and watch as you murder my friend. I will not!"  
"Morgana," Uther said warningly.  
"The sorcerer confessed and we have several witnesses to his actions. I know it is hard for you to believe that Arthur's servant proves to be a man of deceit and gruesome treachery but that is the reality you must face."

Morgana shakes her head violently, remembering how the action always pushed Uther to anger as her hair was no longer in the perfect position afterwards. Crazy old toad he was.  
"No. Stop the execution, I beg of you!" she cries as she steps closer.

She grabs onto Uther's sleeve in a plead for him to hear her. He turns to face the woman, placing his free hand on her arm.  
"He confessed, my girl. Even if I wanted to, there is nothing I can do."

Morgana pulls away from Uther's touch with furious eyes.  
"Yes, there is." she spits.  
"You just don't want to. You hear the word 'magic' and you lose all reason. You are blinded by your hate for something you cannot possibly understand and people suffer at your hands because of it."

She can see the man becoming angrier. Just a little more and he would start shouting back. She knew the man's tells like the back of her hand, after all.

"You are a coward king!" She shouts, watching as Uther's head snaps to her.  
"You have no mercy, no honour and you will never know love! You kill without reason, sentence people without proof, torture without thought and blind yourself to your own evilness!"

Morgana trembles as fury courses through her body. Tears prick at her eyes but the anger in her voice only grows thicker.

Uther rises threateningly from his own chair.  
"You're no king." She forces as much disgust into her voice as she can manage, breathing heavily.  
"You're not human." The king moves towards her.  
"You're a monster, Uther Pendragon. You will never be anything more than that!"

With her last word screamed to the man's face she watched as he snapped.  
Bringing the man to his breaking point never took long nowadays, and while she was grateful for that in this instance she could only fear for the wellbeing and safety of the people under his command.

She had no appetite anyways but her tirade would eventually lead to a guard escorting her from the hall and halfway towards her quarters. 

Uther was unstable and paranoid, blaming everyone but himself for anything that goes awry. The simple truth is that Uther is not a good king. She'd known that for years now, but he was good at hiding it from his people. And now that sorcery had returned to Camelot, he had an easy scapegoat.

She detested the sight of him more each passing second and maintaining her facade of a lovely, quiet girl became more tedious and demanding to the point where she could hardly focus on anything besides not sticking a knife in the man's neck to kill him where he stood.

"Gwen! Are you here?" She called again.  
The maid came running in but a few seconds later. "Yes, my lady. How did it go?"  
Morgana allowed herself a moment to breathe and think over what had transpired.  
She knew Uther would come to her chambers that night and grant her request anyway. He did not like denying Morgana of the things she wished for, especially when they upset her to this degree.

"I think I did alright," she states. "He was positively fuming, and he almost struck me so I'm sure he'll agree to the escort by tonight."

Gwen's eyes grew wide. "He almost what?" she exclaimed in disbelief.  
"oh, I ought to poison his soup, that stinking bag of horse shit. If he lays a finger on you, Morgana, I swear -"  
The king's ward moves to calm down her friend before she says something to land herself in chains, smiling gratefully at her protectiveness.  
"He didn't, Gwen, and after tomorrow he won't get the chance to."

Gwen's shoulders release their tension as she sighs.  
"I'm sorry my lady. I shouldn't have lost my temper like that. The mere thought of him putting you in harm's way makes my blood boil."

Once again Morgana smiles back appreciatively. "Thank you, Gwen. You're a true friend. But the most important thing right now is to save Merlin and get the hell out of Camelot."  
Gwen nods in agreement and moves to grab a large basket and one of the sheets from her mistress's bed.

Meanwhile, Morgana reaches under the bed for the emergency pack. To her surprise, she finds not one but two bags of similar size and features.  
"Of course Merlin would know we'd leave together."

"My lady?" Guinevere asks curiously.

Morgana pulls the bags from underneath her bed and holds them up. Gwen immediately understands the woman's reaction and smiles, thinking of Merlin going out of his way to place both of their bags here, knowing that Guinevere and Morgana wouldn't leave without notifying each other. She can hardly believe how well the boy knows his friends.

Morgana quickly places the bags into the basket and moves to her closet as her maid covers them under the blanket. She pulls out a practical dress and cloak, nothing too extravagant. Not an easy feat if one considers her position in the royal family.  
She takes a second cloak for Guinevere and lays the clothes in the basket her maid is holding. Lastly, Morgana takes a few silver necklaces and places them inside a pouch, laying it on top.

"Will you be alright carrying all of that?" She asks.  
"Oh, yes. It's no problem. I'm just glad you're not packing chainmail." Guinevere laughs.

Morgana chuckles before embracing her friend.  
"Please be careful," she whispers.  
"of course, my lady. I always am." Guinevere promises.

The ward opens the door for her maid and watches as she walks out into the hallway.  
"Gwen! Will you stay in my chambers tonight? Please."  
The servant nods before turning away and continuing down the hall.

Once down the stairs, Guinevere makes her way to the kitchens. She pops her head through the doorway spotting another servant gathering dishes.

"Hey, Temrei."  
"Oh hello, darling. What can I help you with?" Says the woman dressed in a dark beige dress and white apron.

"The lady Morgana would like to go out riding tomorrow at dawn. I'm not sure with how many the escort will be but we'll need food for the day. Can you see it that it is ready? I can come and help you if you'd like but she has requested I polish her jewellery first."

The older woman smiles gently at Guinevere. "That would be lovely, thank you, Gwen. You can come by after you're finished with the lady's silver and help me gather a few things already. We'll have to prepare some things as well but it won't take too long."  
"Thanks, Temmy, you're the best."  
The woman merely laughs to herself as she returns to her task at hand and Guinevere continues toward the armoury.

Gwen reaches her destination without any more interruptions. She moves quickly, grabbing the bags from underneath the 'laundry' and storing them just behind the door.  
Guinevere glances around to make sure no one saw her. A small sigh of relief leaves her mouth as she decides that she's safe for now.

She returns to the basket on the table and starts folding the dress, the cloaks and the blanket.  
After that, she moves on to the silver necklaces and bracelets.

It's not long before the repetitive motion of scrubbing manages to calm down Guinevere's nerves. Still, she can't help her mind wandering to her friend down in the dungeons.  
She knows what it's like to be down there. The experience was anything but fun, but she knows Merlin is suffering so much worse.

She caught a glimpse of him as he was being dragged off towards the dungeons after the sentencing. She had hardly recognised him at first.  
She knew Merlin had been arrested on suspicion of sorcery and he wouldn't be treated well but she could never have imagined this.  
She is so lost in her thoughts she doesn't hear the footsteps coming towards her.

Gwen startles and an involuntary yelp sounds through the room as the door to her right opens.  
She quickly tries to stifle it as she realizes it's only Gaius.  
"You frightened me," she says plainly.

"Well, you have my apologies, girl but can we please hurry along? The guards will be passing soon and I'd rather they don't see us sneaking around out here."

Guinevere starts moving again, knowing the old man is right.  
She hands him the clothes first, as well as one set of protective gear.  
"These are Arthur's. I'll bring another set along."

The man nods and turns back the way he came. Guinevere moves through the rows of armour with ease, picking out one of the spare sets of armour and already noting what chainmail garments to bring as well. 

She quickly follows after Gaius with the armour and two coifs in her arms.  
Gaius leads her through the hall and down a small flight of stairs. Guinevere already dreads having to take this path again with the hauberks. They may be good as far as protective armour goes but those things are a nightmare to move around, each one weighing somewhere around 25 pounds. 

She places the garments at the end of the carriage with Gaius inside.  
"I'll be right back with the swords, but you'll have to help me with the hauberks, I can't carry both of them at once but I can't risk leaving my station for another two trips either.

The old man merely nods in understanding and Gwen returns to the armoury.  
She decides to take the large basket for laundry and use that to bring the weapons to Gaius. 

"I doubt Gaius will be wielding a broadsword, but everyone else should be able to handle one. Arthur will already have his." She says to herself as she takes 3 swords with sheaths and places them in the basket. She lists the items as she drops them in.  
"Okay. Then some daggers, an axe, two crossbows."  
"Don't forget the arrows, dear."

Gwen's eyes widen at the woman's voice as she rises to feign innocence.  
"Temrei, I-" The woman raises her hand to silence Guinevere.  
"Don't even try it, my girl," the older of the two women says.  
"I'm here to help." She steps aside, revealing what appears to be bread and meat, packed and ready for travel. 

At that moment, Gaius enters as well, cautiously looking between the two females.  
"Good evening." he greets politely.  
Temrei simply walks over and hands the old man the bags with food for him to carry while she moves to help Gwen load the weapons.  
"I don't know how to thank you Temrei, but," Gwen hesitates. "Well, thank you."

"My dear, don't thank me, just get Hunith's son out of here. The poor boy is going to need his friends more than ever after what he's been put through."  
Flashes and images enter Guinevere's mind. She can almost hear the screaming, the evil chuckling at another's pain, the clap of the whip, the pleading cries. She swallows down the bile rising in her throat as the sound of breaking bones rings in her ears.  
"I know that, Temmy. But still, thank you." she manages.

Temrei takes it upon herself to carry one of the hauberks to the carriage as well, but only after Gwen tries to persuade her not to.  
She'd flat out told the girl that she wasn't that old or useless just yet and that had seemed to be enough for Gwen to stop bumbling.  
Once everything was loaded into the carriage Gaius bid his farewells and went on his way to load some more things from his home. Mainly medicinal items but he figured it best not to leave the staff Merlin had kept hidden under his bed nor the books of both health and magic.

Guinevere, meanwhile, placed Morgana's silver back into the pouch and followed Temrei to the kitchens to help prepare what they could for tomorrow's escort.  
She thanked the older woman, again and again, asking how she could repay her, but Temrei simply insisted that it was not necessary.

"It is me who is repaying a debt, dear. Your friend has the gift of kindness and it shows in everything he does. He's helped me down here more than a few times already without ever asking more than an extra bowl of soup and even then I have to force him into accepting it."  
"Yeah, that's Merlin for you." Guinevere agrees with a soft smile.  
"You best be off now, Gwen. Get some rest, I'll see to it that everything is ready for tomorrow. I'm sure it'll be a busy day."

Gwen thanks the woman once again, embracing her and telling her to stay out of trouble.  
Temrei agrees and then sends the girl on her way back upstairs. 

Gwen makes her way through the halls of the castle. She knows them like the inside of her pocket but she can tell that something is different even though she'd tried to deny it at first. It happened so slowly, and then all at once, she noticed it. The warmth was gone. What was left behind was cold stone walls to match the cold stone hearts. Uther's reign had taken a terrible toll on Camelot and she could hardly believe she hadn't noticed it from the moment the man took the throne.

"My lady?" Gwen asks as she knocks on the door to Morgana's chambers.  
"Please, come in." Guinevere enters and closes the door behind her smiling at her friend once she spots her.  
Morgana had changed from her evening gown to a light blue nightgown that suited her very well.

"Everything went well," Guinevere explained, knowing that her friend would want to be informed of what had transpired.  
"For a moment I thought I'd been caught, but Temmy actually helped more than I could have asked."  
She can see Morgana release a breath of relief. She'd clearly been worried sick if the state of her desk was anything to go by. It was an odd habit of hers to move things around whenever she got anxious but Gwen didn't mind it so much. She simply placed the items back in their original place. Gwen had once found a goblet of water placed under a wooden cupboard. That is, only after she'd accidentally knocked it over.

"That's good. I'm pleased to hear that."

A few moments of silence pass between the two, not knowing what to say.  
They both want to speak on their friend's situation but neither wants to face the gruesome truth just yet. They'll have more than enough to deal with tomorrow. after all, Gaius will be needing help with the care for Merlin, for which Gwen is more suitable due to her experience. Arthur will be down and out after the fight that is sure to take place, if not worse. So that just leaves Morgana. She would be put in charge of finding a location to set up camp. 

She knows they will be heading North but getting away will be difficult. The king might not immediately know of Merlin's escape but once he finds out he is sure to send search parties out to return his subjects to him. Morgana shudders at the thought.

While Gwen was away she'd seen flashes. Images of a clearing entered her mind. A cave was at the very end, thick trees hiding them from view and she could almost hear a small stream of water further down to the left. The dark-haired beauty was unsure whether this place was real or whether her mind simply conjured up the perfect location as she thought about what she would have to look for. Either way, she would ensure that they made it there.

"You should get some sleep, my lady. We'll all need our strength tomorrow."

Morgana nods, a sad smile painting her features as she turns away from her friend.  
The king's ward crawls under the covers and watches Gwen place the jar of ink back on the right side of her desk, along with the writing feather.  
"Will you join me?" she asks quietly.

"Oh, I couldn't, my lady! It wouldn't be appropriate. I'll be alright on the floor, I promise."  
Before Gwen can come up with more things to say, I Morgana aks her again.  
"Please, Gwen. I-, I don't want to be alone." She finally gives in when seeing her friend's expression.  
Such a powerful woman and she looked like a child after hearing their father tell a story about some scary monster that would snatch them from their beds in the middle of the night.

"Very well, " She conceded. "As you wish"

A while later, both women were tucked under the covers. The candles had been extinguished, and curtains left open to allow the tiny bit of light to shine into the room. The waning moon was merely a sliver of light shining through the dark, it had a strange mesmerising tone to it and Morgana found herself lost in thought once more.  
She would be unable to sleep for at least the coming hour, thinking and pondering on everything that had led her and her friends to this moment.

And in that quiet corner of the castle, hidden under the darkness of the night, she made a vow to protect those she cared for. Starting now, she would never again choose to stay silent to the injustices before her. She would save her friend, the king be damned. 

She would kill Uther with her own bare hands if that's what it took.

Arthur looked around as the door fell shut behind him. The room was still in the same state as he had left it. Arthur didn't know why he expected it to be any different, after all, Merlin wasn't there. The prince clenched his jaw in an attempt to smother his rising anger, taking a breath and releasing it slowly. 

His body itched to do something, to move, to run, to go back down some specific stairs, to knock out some specific guards, gather a certain someone up, give them back their dumb blue ass neckerchief and get the hell out of this fucking castle! 

He only realised what he’d done after the clanging of the plate subsided. The sound annoyed him to no end so he kicked the dish again. He grabbed the cup from the table and threw it in the same direction.  
No matter where he looked, he found nothing to calm himself down. Every single thing, every last sight made him more furious. He wanted the world to stop for a moment. Just so he could catch up, so he could make things right. But it wouldn’t, so he did the only thing he could at this moment: Show the world what it was doing to his mind. 

Wood splintered under his force. He was doing something now. This was alright. He was moving. Things were changing, and that released the fear and hatred. Nothing was safe in his wake. He left cabinet doors ripped from their hinges, cupboards kicked in, tables toppled over, keys and gold sprawled about, sheets ripped to shreds, bedposts cut and shattered from the force of a broadsword.

He isn't sure where exactly, along the way, he had lost his mind. Gone in the haze of his destruction. But he knows for certain that dawn is still hours away when he finally regains his ability to breathe. It felt like an eternity to be stuck in that state of blankness. 

His father will not be pleased, but perhaps this can play in his favour. He could tell the man that he was so angry at Merlin's betrayal that he couldn't help it. Arthur scrunched his nose in disgust at the thought. He hated the very idea, but it would throw his father off and it would make sure Uther would give his son the benefit of the doubt for not being present at the execution with him. 

Arthur's backside had gone numb from sitting on the stone floor. He sighed to himself, working up the ability to move. HIs head proved just as numb as his backside and he had to use the wall for a moment so as to not succumb to the dizziness drowning his senses.  
The prince all but shuffled towards his bed, finally settling down in it. He turned to lay on his side and noticed The blue cloth still tied securely around his wrist.

With Merlin's idiot antics on his mind, he drifted off into a macabre land of dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur gasped for air as he shot up in his bed. Merlin. He takes in his surroundings in a matter of seconds, but his frantic breathing hardly slows. Waking up doesn’t put an end to the terror this time. He cannot hide from his nightmares in reality because reality is just as bad. In fact, it might be worse. Arthur’s face shows his disgust as he realizes the stickiness of his cold sweat on his skin. He hadn’t had a nightmare like this in ages and he could only hope that he would be granted the same peace he knew next time he seeks out the realm of dreams.

Images plague his mind as he gets up and walks across the room. He pays no mind to the shattered wood under his feet, nor the reflection of the moon on the goblets and plates.  
Arthur rubs his eyes in annoyance at the persistent images passing through his mind. He curses quietly at one scene in particular. Merlin.  
He knows they aren’t real. He knows it. He saw Merlin but a few hours ago.  
Then again, so much can happen in mere minutes, let alone hours.

No! Merlin, he-. He can’t be... He’s not. If there’s one thing Arthur can count on it’s his father’s love of rules. So long as they play in his favour he will not divert from them and Merlin’s public execution will be by the rules. Uther would not risk doing anything else, or at least nothing he couldn’t get away with. He would always try to appear better than he was.

Arthur sighed once again. He loved his father. Truly, he did. But he had to remind himself of that more and more often as of late. He knew Uther had been good to Camelot, but his vision for the future of this great city was not one Arthur shared. Uther was stuck in the old ways. He made alliances for power but was just as eager to betray his allies as he was ready to kill an innocent child if it would save his skin. Arthur was acutely aware of that last fact after learning of his father’s actions during the Great Purge. Yes, his father had experience in dealing with certain old threats, but maybe it was exactly that which made him unable to see things in a different light.  
He drenches a piece of ripped sheets in cold water, wrenching it out and wiping the cool cloth over his skin. Merlin. There was that image again. His friend, he knew it, laid face down on the cold stone dungeon floor. He knew it was Merlin. But he wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t felt it. They’d broken him. Tore him at the seams, split him open and crushed him. Arthur swallowed thickly, feeling bile rise in his throat. 

“It was a dream.” He reminded himself.  
“A nightmare.”  
“It’s not real.” He breathed.

Still, he had to fight to hold himself back from storming to the dungeons just to make sure Merlin was still in one piece. To know that he was breathing. To know that his heartbeat still thrummed on inside his chest. To know that he would soon be calling the prince a royal prat again. Arthur’s eyes watered, prickling his throat with the promise of grief. The prince’s face contorted into sorrow fuelled by the fear of something that hadn’t happened, amplified by the deafening silence left behind in the absence of a person he could no longer claim to be simply his friend.  
No, the knights were his friends. Morgana was more like a sister. But he cared for Merlin a great deal more. 

He had a feeling his servant knew far more than he let on, that he was hiding things from his master. But Arthur knew Merlin. The boy is a disgrace to the subtle art of lying. He wouldn’t keep a secret unless he had no other option. Now, it seemed, his secret was revealed and Arthur wondered if things would change between them. It wasn’t likely, though. They’d probably bother one another with underhanded remarks and low blows until it stopped being a thing to think about. It’d just fade into what he already knew was Merlin and him. Him and Merlin. They always came back together and if the future needed a little hand in keeping things that way, then Arthur sure as hell wouldn’t deny his task.

Arthur fell back onto his bed, dazed and yet wide awake, dreading and yet hoping for dawn to arrive. Morgana would alert him to her leaving Camelot. He would dress, face his father and lie his ass off in pulling up excuses to explain the mess that was his chambers. He would receive his breakfast from someone that was not Merlin. He would put on his armour, fetch his horse and prepare for battle. He would walk down to the lower town and wait. He would listen for the sound of hooves and the rattling of metal against wood.  
And then, he promised, he will save Merlin.

The men guarding Arthur’s chambers had been called away a few hours ago after Uther was convinced that his son wouldn’t be sneaking out that night. Not that he believed Arthur could do any real harm, seeing as he would never get past the guards and the sentries leading to the dungeon. Not even the future king of Camelot could accomplish such a feat.  
The king had rested for a while, but sleep was always hard to come by with an execution approaching. He had never seen Arthur so fierce in defending a person.

The servant had betrayed them, how could his son not see that? The thought of the sorcerer so close to his only son had Uther terrified. For months this man had walked among his people.  
Uther damned himself for not seeing it sooner, for believing his façade of a poor, clumsy, servant boy. Hell, the sorcerer had outright admitted to his crimes on numerous occasions. But Arthur had defended him.

At that moment, the king realised how strong of a hold this sorcerer had on his son. He must have enchanted Arthur months ago, it was the only explanation.  
The king sighed wearily, pulling his blankets tighter around his body.  
All would be back to normal soon. The sorcerer would die, his son’s enchantment lifted and his family would be safe from the threat of magic for another day.

He remembered how the sorcerer was brought into his hall that morning. The magician had been treated brutally during his time in Camelot’s dungeons. Uther did not take any pleasure in torturing the young boy but even with the witnesses present, he needed a confession from the sorcerer himself and he knew better than anyone that people did not last long in Camelotian torture chambers.  
The wizard proved stronger than he had thought, though. Uther knew exactly what had been done to the boy. He had watched battle-hardened men succumb in half as much time. But even while spitting up blood the wizard refused to confess to his crimes before the king promised that no harm would come to the prince. As if Arthur was ever to be blamed for his servant’s betrayal.

It was so strange. The boy had stood on his own feet until that moment. Obviously struggling, but standing upright nonetheless. Defiance and determination were displayed by his body language, fear and worry on his face.  
Only after Uther clarified that Arthur would not be harmed because of the sorcerer’s actions did the boy release a breath, collapsing in exhaustion and pain. It looked as though he was holding out for that one promise before ever allowing the extent of the torture to be shown. The sorcerer confessed, and Uther sentenced him to be burned at the stake as the guards held his body upright.

The king was sure it was a sight he wouldn’t easily forget.  
The worry for his son became greater as he laid there, thinking about the scene the boy caused after his servant’s sentencing. He understood better than anyone that betrayal by those closest to you was not an easy thing to endure. Of course, Arthur wouldn’t simply accept that. He would fight his father tooth and nail until the truth became revealed to him.

He knew what it felt like to be betrayed. He knew better than anyone what it was like to have your faith in a person shattered to bits. So he understood Arthur. He understood the disbelief, the anger, the confusion. But this was a valuable lesson for the prince. The servant’s first betrayal would be carved into Arthur’s memory for the rest of his life. He would hurt, at first, but he would heal. He would come out of this a stronger man, even if he didn’t want to.

Arthur would not soon forget this. He will be wary and untrusting, cold and calculated. Great traits for a king to have. Uther would make sure that his son would rise to the throne to become one of Camelot’s most powerful rulers. He would ensure that Arthur could be prosperous.  
Uther decided that he would check on his son come morning and with that, the king closed his eyes.

Arthur sat on the edge of his bed, tapping his foot on the floor anxiously. He moved to the table where his fingers toyed with a flap of ripped cloth, then to his desk where he decided to pick at his writing feather and then to his window to watch the sky becoming lighter and lighter as time ticked by. He was sure he’d die waiting but he couldn’t do anything else. It would be several hours of counting the seconds and pretending he was okay with all this. Agonising hours of uncertainty about whether or not Merlin was even still alive at all.

He shot up as the door to his chambers rattled, making it halfway to the entrance before the person even fully stepped inside.  
Morgana gasped as she looked around. “Arthur, what have you done?” she exclaimed.

Arthur did not respond. He pulled the woman into his arms, thanking her for finally breaking that dreadful silence.  
“I may have gotten a bit upset.” He admits while pulling away.  
Morgana looks a bit startled by the sudden intrusion of personal space but quickly regains her composure. “Your father will not be pleased, I hope you know this.”  
Arthur nodded, sighing as he turned away from Morgana. She was already dressed in her riding clothes. 

“You’ll be leaving soon?”  
“Yes,” she said. “Gwen is saddling our horses as we speak.”  
Arthur nodded again, suddenly growing very quiet. He had prayed for this moment to arrive and yet now that it was here he hardly knew what to do with himself.

“Arthur,” Morgana called.  
“You’ll have to face Uther and bide your time. I know it’s not easy to wait. To feel like your wasting time. But he’ll make it. As will you. You will save him. I know you will.”  
The king’s ward stepped closer, placing her hand on Arthur’s shoulder in comfort.  
“How are you so sure of this?” Arthur asked almost sadly. “I’ve been beating myself up all night.”

Morgana pressed her lips into a thin line as she swallowed before offering her friend a small, encouraging smile.  
“I have a good feeling about this.”  
Arthur’s eyebrows shot upwards in a disbelieving ‘really?’  
“A feeling.” He deadpanned.  
“Yes, a feeling.” Arthur sighed as Morgana repeated herself, shaking his head.  
“A feeling that even if this plan fails you will do whatever it takes to save him. I don’t know how, either you’re too stupid or too boar headed to realise when you’ve lost, but you don’t give up. And I know you won’t fail Merlin.” Morgana explained as she walked back towards the door.  
“Cause if you do, I’ll have your head.” She added casually, earning a quiet chuckle from the prince.

“Be safe, Morgana,” Arthur added as the lady opened the door.  
She nodded gratefully before wishing him good luck and closing the door behind her, leaving Arthur’s chambers in that horrible state of silence once again.

“What in seven hells happened in here?” The king exclaimed.  
watching as his son was finally shaken from his state of unresponsiveness. Arthur hadn’t even heard him come in.  
“What? Did you have a sparring session with all the knights of Camelot in your private chambers last night?” He accused. The king sighed as Arthur merely looked down guiltily, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Sorry, father,” Arthur mumbles.  
“Look, I know this is a hard time for you but you have a reputation to uphold. I will not allow you to make a fool of yourself in these trying times.”  
“Father,” Arthur interrupts. “My friend is being burned at the stake today. I think I have every right to be upset about that.”  
“No, you do not!” Uther‘s voice grows louder. 

“You are the future king of Camelot.”  
“And that means I must make my heart into a gravestone?” Arthur argues.  
“Yes. It does.” The king says without hesitation.  
The prince turns his back to the king. An unbelieving scoff leaving his lips.  
“I will send some people to clean up your mess.”

With that, the king takes his leave and Artur kicks at the wooden cupboard doors a few more times, just for good measure.  
Soon servants enter the prince’s chambers to begin cleaning up. Arthur offers to lend a hand but they tell him the king explicitly forbade him from helping. So just sits behind his desk, glaring daggers at his breakfast.

After his chambers began to resemble something halfway acceptable Arthur dismissed the servants.  
He could not wait until they finished everything.  
“Thank you. I just, I need a moment.”

The servants bowed to him politely before leaving the room. The Prince struggled to hold back his amusement as one of the newer servants cursed quietly and rushed back into the room to clear his plate. The girl offered her sincerest apologies for her mistake but Arthur simply shook his head, chuckling.  
“Not to worry, uhm...” He trailed off.  
“Oh, Lisarel. My name is Lisarel, Sire.”  
“Lisarel,” the prince repeated.  
“Yes, sire, but most people call me Liz.”  
Arthur nodded to the girl in thanks before she turned away from him. 

The girl’s pace slowed to a halt as quickly as it had picked up. “Sire?”  
Arthur gave the girl his full attention.  
“Will- Will Merlin really be executed?” Arthur clenched his jaw at the question, taking a few moments to breathe before replying.  
“They will try,” Arthur says.  
“But you won’t let them?” The Prince doesn’t miss the hopefulness in the girl’s voice, nor the fact that it doesn’t sound like a question at all.  
“Not in my worst nightmare.” It sounds oddly like a promise to Arthur who can only watch as a somewhat proud little smile makes its way to the girl’s face. Her eyes showing relief and joy at learning where the prince’s loyalties lie.  
“Well, I’ll be sure not to miss it then. Good day, sire.” 

The girl walks away with haste and Arthur is left to wonder, once again, just how many people would willingly go against his father and the knights of Camelot in order to save Merlin’s clumsy ass. He would probably never know, and that was fine by him.  
Arthur’s eyes widened in realisation and he cursed as he quickly chased after the servant girl. “Lisarel!” He called out. “Lisa!”  
He found the girl again in a matter of seconds, walking down the hall to go to the kitchen. “Would you, by any chance, know how to put on armour?” The girl hesitated for a moment.  
“Yes, sire, I do.” Arthur thanked the gods for his luck. He was in no mood to struggle with his hauberk today. Nor any other day, really, but especially not today.  
“Good.” He stated.

The girl stood, baffled as he quickly took the plate and cup from her hands and placed them on the windowsill with the claim that ‘someone else would handle them’. The prince then proceeded to guide, or rather drag, her back to his chambers.  
Lisarel hated to think what someone might suspect if they saw this ordeal.

True to her claims Lisarel proved her knowledge on armour. Arthur learned that she had served a blacksmith in her hometown. She’d spent quite a few years there before the man fell ill. A fever came upon him for two days before death finally took the man.  
When the prince gave her his condolences she brushed his words aside.  
“Don’t be sorry. He was a horrible man. His death does not change how he lived.”  
Arthur has to admit the girl has a very strong point.  
“There,” Lisarel says as she hands Arthur his sword, “You’re all set.”

Arthur thanked her and left his quarters with the girl in tow. The prince told Lisarel to stay close and follow him as he made his way to the great hall to find the king.  
“Father.”  
“Arthur, you’re here. Good.”  
The prince quickly apologised, explaining that he couldn’t stay for the moment.  
“Lisarel has notified me of a dispute in the lower town. I will go and make sure it is settled.”  
“Very well,” his father agreed begrudgingly. “But make sure you return in time for the execution. As the future king, you must be present.”  
Arthur fought to keep his thoughts from showing on his face. He would surely be thrown in the dungeons for treason if anyone knew what went on inside his head.  
“Of course, father.”

So, the prince left the hall, reminding Lisarel to stay close once again.  
Arthur felt panic rising at the sight of the stake being readied, quickening his pace to make it out of the citadel and down to the markets. Only then did the prince breathe a little easier. He guided Lisarel swiftly down to the lower markets while people whispered and stared behind their backs but Arthur paid it no mind.  
They soon arrived at their destination and for all of the stress Arthur had felt just a few minutes prior, he now felt utterly useless. Standing here with nothing good to do. The prince paced up and down as Lisarel watched with growing annoyance.  
It clearly bothered the girl but Arthur knew she wouldn’t likely speak on it. 

As he sighed for the 57th time he noticed something odd.  
The people weren’t moving. Or at least, not as much as they would otherwise.  
Arthur saw people standing around, leisurely walking up and down the street, pretending to be busy and so on. He realised one woman had been folding and refolding the same tunic for several minutes. A man walking around with a broom, stopping every now and then to swipe it across the street. Groups of people pretending to be engaged in conversation while glancing towards him every few seconds.

“Am I losing my mind or are these people waiting for something?”  
Lisarel smiled mischievously to the prince.  
“You’re very different from your father, your highness.” She said with the same finality as if she’d given an actual answer.  
Arthur leaned against a wall then, knowing he wouldn’t get a proper answer from the girl, but also aware that he already knows everything there is to know.  
He could hardly believe it though. These people were here for Merlin. Some were obviously not there n their own account, but others could hardly hide their nervousness.

There was a tense air all around and Arthur could have smacked himself for not noticing it earlier. He should have. And he would have if Merlin had been by his side instead of in chains. Arthur resisted his own mind, refusing to be lost in thought once again. He watched the people become more restless as the minutes ticked by. He would be okay. Merlin would be okay. Everything would be alright.

Everything would be alright, he would make sure of it. He had to. The plan had to work because he didn’t know what he would do if it didn’t.

He felt his heartbeat pick up and his body become more alert, looking up towards the sound of hooves against the unhardened streets. The sound of a moving cart in the distance and the rattling of chains against metal. 

He willed his body to move, hiding behind a wooden wall that had been pulled up.  
Arthur held his breath, watching as the people of Camelot started gathering.  
Then the cart came into view. The dark metal cage appeared empty at first, but soon people shouted for the man driving the cart to stop. As the cart rounded the corner completely Arthur’s breath caught in his throat. Merlin’s hand hung limply out of the bars, bruises clear on his skin. He couldn’t move yet. 

He had to wait.  
Just a few more seconds.  
Another breath.  
A heartbeat.

And then he stepped forward, mind to zero and only one thought present: Save him.


	4. Chapter 4

His own breath burned in his lungs, heart pounding in his throat and drumming in his head, blood rushing through his veins as he swung his sword. 4 guards circled the prince, each looking for an opening.  
One of the men to his right would strike first in an attempt to make Arthur drop his sword before the others would try to close in and force the prince to his knees. If they succeeded he would be arrested and charged with treason for interfering with the execution.  
If they succeeded, Merlin would surely die.

Arthur was distracted for a moment as a harsh clang sounded behind him. He glanced in the direction of the sound to find Lisarel with a metal jug in her hands standing over one of the knights. The prince admitted he was impressed. She didn’t look like the fighting type.  
He quickly lashed out while the men were also distracted, immediately pushing back his opponents.

The man who was steering the cart had stopped the horse, waiting for orders from the guards to continue. Arthur could see people closing in around the back of the carriage, trying to find something strong enough to break the lock or even the bars on the cage. They gathered around looking for whatever they could do to help the boy inside the cage. Arthur could hear people yelling out injuries: broken ribs, busted ankle, twisted wrist, missing nails, dark bruises, hardly breathing, not conscious, dislocated shoulder, bleeding from the head, infected cuts, fingers broken, lacerations on his back-  
Arthur stumbled over his own feet, losing the strength in his body.  
He went down, fell to his knees. Everything slowed down around him, spinning absurdly fast as nausea made him curse the sun for daring to shine down on this scene.  
Then the clang of his sword colliding with another sounded right in front of him.  
It all disappeared. His mind was solid. He would not fail Merlin. Whatever it took, he would get Merlin out of here. He would see to it that his friend healed. Arthur would keep him safe, always.

Some people stood by and watched, some had fled the scene and then there were those who decided to advance towards the knights themselves. The prince warned them not to attack. These people meant well and were trying to help, he knew that. But he could not ask them to offer their lives in order to help him. More guards were pouring in, though, and could not face them all by himself. 

Arthur evaded blows left and right. He spotted a newly trained guard. Clearly young and inexperienced. He struck forward hard and fast, his sword clanging against the guard’s plate armour. The boy fell back, breaking the formation, and Arthur rushed forward towards the carriage.  
Two new knights moved to block his path, a third joining soon. They took their time to figure out their opponent. Arthur struck first, his attack being evaded. He swung his sword to block the man’s attack, getting hit in the stomach with a kick. He quickly rolled out of the way to prevent a hit from a mace.

The young Pendragon rose to his feet, watching the fighters before him. The prince dared them with nothing but his expression to try and deliver a winning blow. But they wouldn’t. These guards were not as experienced. Their winning blow would also be their killing blow because they were only able to give all or nothing. They could not control their strikes and they knew that just as well as Arthur did. The men were very much aware that if Arthur set his sights on a goal, he would not go down easily. The prince fought them off, knocking them out or making sure they couldn’t move as he kicked their weapons out of reach.

He spotted the knights Jogunn and Alvares, two siblings. They had only served Camelot for a few months but they were skilled fighters. They closed in along with the guards and Arthur had to practically fold his body in two to avoid a very close call by one of the men who had taken a chance on his skills.

“Notify the king!” Arthur once again broke through the guard’s formation as they were distracted by the command, knocking one of them to the ground with an elbow to the face. The older man on the cart was helped down from his seat by one of the butcher’s son. 

“Lisarel! The key!” Arthur instructed.  
Determination settled on the girl’s face as her eyes searched for the person who had the key to undo the lock on Merlin’s cage. She spotted the man running around the scene to try and get away.  
“Like hell you will.” She said to herself as she picked up the mace that had been dropped to the ground earlier. She quickly chased after the guard with the key.  
The man surprised her jumping out of a stable. Lisarel swung the mace, nearly hitting her target, but the man had been just barely quick enough to avoid being hit. He stalked forward, realising the girl’s inexperience with this weapon, making her stumble backwards and eventually fall to the ground. 

The servant turned her head away, waiting for the blow to come and unconsciousness to befall her. Lisarel’s eyes shot open and watched the guard fall to the ground next to her from being hit in the crotch.  
“Are you alright?” the woman asked with her fingers grasping onto her broom. Lisarel merely nodded, quickly getting up and turning the man onto his back, she slowed her actions as the man groaned but decided he was dazed enough not to struggle against her.

She tore the keyring from the man’s belt and picked up the mace before thanking the woman and returning to where Arthur was still fighting off knights. More commoners had joined in the fight and the odds seemed to be playing in their favour t this moment. That is until she spotted about two dozen guards emerging from the direction of the citadel.

“Arthur!” she shouted. “They’re coming!”  
The prince steeled himself, running into his opponent and using the man’s body weight against him to flip him over and onto the ground as Lisarel rushed to the cage to try and unlock it.

Jogunn stepped in front of the prince just as he was within reach of the cart.  
Merlin was so close Arthur would be able to touch him if he took a few more steps.  
“We stand with you, sire, we will bide you as much time as we can.”  
Arthur grabbed the man by the shoulder as he passed him, showing his gratitude in a friendly manner. 

Lisarel was still struggling with the lock, whispering to herself to will the right key into her hand. Two men walked up behind her and pushed her body upwards, she grabbed onto the bars of the cage in surprise as Arthur commanded the horse to start moving. He rode forward before turning the horse around with the reins.

“Hang on, Lisa!” Arthur shouted as they narrowed a cobblestone passageway. The girl screamed as her grip on the bars started slipping for a few moments. The wind was whipping through her hair, making it hard to see.  
But she could see the boy chained up in there, unconscious and pale, so she grit her teeth and refused to give up. She hooked her arm in between the bars as Arthur encouraged the horse to run faster. 

Lisarel took the keyring and bit down on it before slowly making her way around the cage. Step by step she went around the side to get to the bench, careful not to accidentally slip up and either fall off the cart or harm Merlin.  
When she finally managed to crawl around and hold on to the cage while facing the correct way she realised where they were.  
People had gathered outside their houses to shout encouragement to Arthur as he passed by. Some had to duck aside as the road became smaller but Arthur was certain they wouldn’t hold his haste against him.  
“Sire, the gates,” Lisa warned. Arthur cursed loudly as he realised they were shut. His mind already coming up with new paths to take in order to make their escape.

He had to decide now whether he would risk everything trying to open the gates himself or whether he would risk everything trying to find a different exit and hope not to get caught by more of his knights.  
Then he heard the creaking and he saw a crack appear in between the doors. Slowly, the gates leading outside opened to reveal the path into the forest.

Arthur took note of the knights responsible for opening the gates. The men who were normally on duty had been knocked out. Arthur thanked the Gods, and Morgana, and hoped with everything he had that their luck would hold out.

“Arthur.” The girl’s voice sounded worried, almost frightened. But the prince could not pay mind to her right now. He simply encouraged the horse to keep running.  
He refused to think of anything. Not the sweat on his brow, not the sound of the cart as it thundered out of the gates, not the tinging of the keys in Lisa’s hand, not the paleness of Merlin’s skin or the complete and utter lack of any visible indication of breathing. He couldn’t afford to.  
“Arthur, you’re hurt.”  
“I’m fine.”

He could hear the girl gasp behind him as she grabbed on to the bars more tightly in a sharp turn into the woods of Camelot.  
“No.” She said. “You are not. You’re bleeding.”  
Arthur didn’t reply, but he did become aware of a slight stinging on the left side of his stomach as well as his left thigh. He’d received some blows that were sure to leave big purple bruises and some scrapes and cuts on his face and hands. But he was fine.

He had to be, for Merlin.

The prince continued to push the horse to move faster making his way to a clearing.  
The trail left by the cart would be more than easy enough to spot and Arthur knew for a fact that his father would know of his treason by now. The man would lose his mind. The prince prayed for the people who were unfortunate enough to be on the king’s path that day. 

The stinging sensation on his side was becoming more bothersome with every movement. The prince inhaled sharply through closed teeth before telling the servant girl next to him to look for a key with a silver rim around the end. She shuffled through the keys until she spotted it.

It didn’t take long for Arthur to spot the clearing in between the trees. He tugged on the reins between his fingers to slow the horse down to a halt. The animal breathed roughly and Arthur felt bad for a bit, seeing that the horse wasn’t the youngest anymore. Lisa stepped down from the cart as well and Arthur helped her keep her balance as her feet hit the muddy ground before taking the key from her hands and rushing towards the back of the cart. 

He pushed the key into the lock, fixing his gaze on the dark metal only.  
The cage door opened with a screeching sound and Arthur went in. He gulped as his eyes finally settled on the boy he had given the title of ‘idiot’. He stopped for a moment as his vision blurred. He couldn’t breathe. By his friend’s state, the prince could tell that Uther had allowed or even ordered Merlin to be tortured further last night, possibly to make sure he really couldn’t do anything to fight back against the execution.

Uther had succeeded. The prince didn’t think the boy would even be able to lift his finger if he tried with all his might. He pulled the key from the lock behind him with a scowl on his face, shaking the voice growing in the back of his mind.

He won’t make it. It’s too much. He’s too weak, he won’t make it till dawn.  
Arthur made a mental note to kick himself for thinking that before moving forward to unlock Merlin’s wrist from the cuffs chaining him to the cage.  
With a muffled thud, the boy’s arm fell to the wood on which he laid.

Arthur worked quickly, shifting Merlin’s body so his legs hung from the back of the cart before crawling to his side. He clenched his eyes shut at the loud cracking noise as he popped Merlin’s shoulder back into its socket as Lisa turned away and covered her mouth.

Arthur set to work, knowing they only had a very limited amount of time, setting 4 of Merlin’s fingers and his ankle. The breaks seemed to be clean as far as he could tell, no shattered bone, which was a miracle in itself seeing as to what instruments were likely used to inflict this kind of damage.  
Lisa had walked a few steps away, still covering her mouth as her hands shook. She looked pale and Arthur could only assume that this was also the case for him.

The prince manoeuvred out of the cage, jumping down to land on the squishy ground. He cursed as he realised they would be leaving clear tracks for the knights to follow. But it didn’t matter right now. They would be led somewhere else entirely first. 

Arthur turned to the cage once more, grabbing hold of Merlin’s lower arms and tugging his unconscious body into a sitting position, quickly catching him as he fell forward. He gathered Merlin in his arms, figuring the best way to carry him would be on his back.

Arthur struggled to find a good way to reach this position, glancing through the trees just about every second. He finally succeeded and stomped off in the direction they were originally headed before calling out to Lisa.  
He instructed the girl to turn the horse and carriage around and send the animal running. The guards wouldn’t be too far off at this point. They’ll hear the horse and follow the noise, giving the runaways the time to find a stream.

They had run for a few minutes when Lisarel spoke up from behind Arthur. Her breath caught in her throat as she swallowed, her chest rising and falling in big motions.  
“Sire, I worry for you. The bleeding hasn't stopped yet.”

“I know,” Arthur acknowledged, “But we have to get to the others, or at least find somewhere to hide.” He stated.  
“Don’t remind me again until we can afford to stop running.” Lisarel nodded her head, worry still prominent on her features. “Yes, sire.”  
The prince quickly reminded the girl to simply call him Arthur. 

They continued running, be it at a slightly slower pace, and soon heard the sound of water.  
They broke through the treeline and Arthur sighed in relief. It was small still. The water would be freezing seeing as it came from the mountains, but it would cover their tracks.  
“We’ll follow this stream up North until we find the others.” He informed the girl.  
“Prepare yourself, this won’t be pleasant.”

Lisarel followed reluctantly, pulling her dress up to her knees and tying it up quickly.  
It would at least make it a little easier to make her way through the water.  
Arthur breathed out harshly as he stepped into the water. He truly wished he could have been wrong about the coldness of the water. With his attention lowered due to the sudden shift in temperature, he nearly slipped on a loose rock on the edge of the stream.  
The prince barely managed to keep his balance, making sure to keep Merlin’s unconscious body as dry as possible.

He could hardly feel his legs after what felt like hours of ploughing through the water, the cold had numbed his senses. He shuddered as he adjusted Merlin’s body on his back. This position wasn’t easy to maintain but Arthur found immense comfort in the fact that he could feel Merlin’s breathing against his back. It was slow and only barely there, but it was there, and that was enough for now.

The prince’s eyes widened as he heard a horse approaching. He quickly signalled Lisarel to follow closely as he made his way out of the water to hide. Arthur kept low, training his eyes on the treeline. The sound was coming closer as he spotted a white horse in the distance. 

“Arthur!”

A relieved sigh left his lips as he recognised Guinevere’s voice, nodding to Lisarel to let her know they were okay. He motioned his head and she quickly made her way out of the stream completely as Arthur took the time to breathe for a moment.  
“Here! We’re here!”

Arthur made his way out of the water, following after Lisarel. The two met up with Guinevere, who rushed towards them between the trees.  
She gasped loudly as she spotted her friend on Arthur’s back.  
“Oh my gods,” she exclaimed in disbelief while Morgana stood frozen by the carriage. 

Arthur spotted four horses in total; two Palfreys attached to the carriage, Guinevere’s courser and Morgana’s white destrier.  
Gaius shoved aside the fabric at the back of the carriage as Arthur approached.  
The prince grunted slightly from the effort as he stepped inside, careful not to have Merlin bump into anything. He knew Gaius had said something, but it was so quiet that he couldn’t make it out. 

The prince twisted his body to lay Merlin down on the wooden floor of the carriage. The others stood and watched, each desperate to help the boy or crushed by the sight of him in this state.  
Morgana was the first to snap out of it, commanding the unknown servant girl to mount her horse and make sure the other one was kept close in case Guinevere decided to ride in the carriage to help Gaius. Her maid quickly stepped out again and mounted Finn.  
Morgana remembered for a moment how she had despised the name when Guinevere first introduced the horse to her, but she’d grown used to it over time. Finn was a good horse, agile and fast just as a courser should be.

The king’s ward sat down on the bench at the front of the carriage, using the reigns to spur the Palfreys into motion. Guinevere notified her that Arthur had been injured. The maid had given him instructions on what to do and had flat out ordered him to rest. Once he felt he could handle it they would switch places: Arthur would take a horse while Guinevere helped Gaius tend to Merlin’s wounds.

Everyone was quiet for a while, not daring to speak after seeing the shape their friend was in. Morgana’s features twisted in disgust as she thought of the king. She had often wondered how cruel a man he could be, and it seemed she had her answer now. She could never again look upon the man with pride over what he had given Camelot. Never again would she fall for his charismatic smiles and empty promises of fair trials and justice. 

The dark-haired woman listened with one ear to the conversation between Guinevere and the servant girl. She did seem familiar so it wasn’t a surprise that the girl served in the castle. Lisarel, or Lizzy as she insisted, had earned her pay under a blacksmith after her father’s farm was partly destroyed in a fire. After that, she joined the kitchen staff at the palace. She’d seen Merlin running around the castle to cater to the prince’s needs.  
“But he still took out the time to help me find the storage room.” She explained.  
“We talked only a few times after that but I saw him often. When I heard of the king’s judgement and the prince’s reaction to it I wanted nothing more than to help. So I pretended to be a chambermaid and that’s pretty much how his highness managed to bring me along.”

Guinevere shot a friendly smile to the girl. She was clearly younger than her, but not by a lot.  
“Well, I’m glad to have you onboard.”  
“Did many people come to Arthur’s aid today? In the lower town.” Morgana interjected.

The girl nodded fiercely.  
“Oh yes, my lady. Dozens upon dozens of people gathered around and tried their best to help. However, with the guards and knights carrying weapons and them being untrained I wouldn’t exactly call it a fair fight.”  
Morgana agrees silently. “Well, I’m glad to hear that some people, at least, still carry kind hearts.”

The sun was starting its descent by the time Arthur came out of the carriage. Morgana had decided to stop and allow the horses to rest and give everyone the time to discuss how to handle the upcoming night. It would surely not be an easy one as weariness from the day’s events crept onto everyone. 

“We should travel further and try to find a clearing to set up camp. I believe there is one not too far from here. Spotted it during a hunt.” The prince explained.  
Everyone agreed without question and Arthur continued to explain each person’s task as they rode on. Morgana would be tasked with feeding the horses and helping Lisarel set up camp. Guinevere would be gathering firewood and keeping inventory of the food they had. Gaius would not leave Merlin’s side, obviously, and Arthur would help whoever needed it while keeping watch. He may be more experienced in setting up a camp to sleep for the night, but he also knew that he was the group’s main defender from attacks.

Just as Arthur promised the group found the clearing. Everyone immediately started their tasks and as expected it was Lisarel who asked Arthur’s assistance in setting up tents.  
Merlin would not be moved from his position in the carriage, especially after Gaius explicitly forbade anyone from even thinking about it. The tent would be shared by the three ladies of the group while another single tent would be set up for Gaius as Arthur kept watch.  
They decided he would switch out with Gaius as the man was adamant on having to change Merlin’s bandages that night to prevent further infection and make sure the wounds were healing as they should be.

The group didn’t last much longer after the sun set. They ate from their ration, deciding not to start a fire after all so they wouldn’t be spotted from all the way back in Camelot itself. Lisarel almost fell asleep during dinner, the poor girl. Arthur watched as Morgana led her to the tent. He could see the ward was already becoming protective. It was a trait he’d always admired in her.

Of course, Arthur would stand up for anyone if he believed it was the right thing to do, but Morgana’s protectiveness and unrivalled kindness were other stories entirely. Well, there was one person who might just take her throne when it came to that.  
Arthur pushed aside the fabric over the back of the carriage, stepping inside quietly. 

He looked down to Merlin who hadn’t changed much. All sorts of colours of bruising showed up on his otherwise pale skin. The cuts on his arms were bandaged. His broken fingers and ankle had been splinted. His back had been treated with several of Gaius’ concoctions.  
Merlin smelled like every possible medicine, remedy and tonic Arthur had received from Gaius at some point in his life. But Arthur could see his chest rising and falling rhythmically.  
He could feel the boy’s heart beating more steadily under his fingers.  
Merlin no longer looked like death itself and for that, he would be eternally grateful to anyone and anything that had made it possible.

The prince took a waterskin and poured the liquid onto a rag, making sure not to be too free with their supplies. They may be close to a river but they had to be prepared for anything to go wrong. For now though, Arthur simply turned to his friend, placing the cool cloth onto his forehead to help still his fever.

Merlin would surely be alright. Perhaps, by tomorrow morning he would open his eyes to the world again. Arthur promised himself to be there for that moment as he walked to the single tent to wake Gaius for watch duty.  
The older man rose quickly from his spot, making Arthur wonder if he had even slept at all.

“A bit, sire, but it is quite difficult as you can imagine.”  
Arthur nodded solemnly. He understood better than anyone how absolutely crushing it could be to be drained of every last drop of energy in your body but still be unable to sleep at all. The events, worries, fears and joys of what happened replaying in your mind on a loop that you wish you could just pause.

“Wake me if anything happens, Gaius. I’m serious. Anything at all.”  
The physician agreed and Arthur laid down, careful not to stretch too far so as to not open the wound on his abdomen. It seemed the blade that had ‘nicked’ him had been sharper than he thought. He watched as Gaius made his way to the carriage, quickly checking on Merlin before re-emerging.  
The prince could feel the exhaustion taking over. But he waited for Gaius to find his gaze once more. Only after the man confirmed that all was well with a silent nod did Arthur allow his eyes to slip closed. He did not dream of gruesome sights and blood-curdling screams that night.


	5. Chapter 5

Gaius watched over the camp as the others rested. He was worried.  
Merlin’s wounds were grave, they would take quite a long time to heal. The young boy would be likely to have permanent damage and that is if he lived long enough to heal at all.

The numerous infected cuts and lacerations were very troublesome, as were the broken bones. Gaius had no way of knowing how long ago these injuries were sustained and they had to be mended immediately for them to heal properly. He knew the prince had done what he thought was best by setting the breaks but this left the physician forced to rebreak Merlin’s fingers to set them properly. Merlin’s ankle, while he hoped it was merely sprained, had also been broken. He counted the boy lucky that, true to Arthur’s words, there seemed to be no shattered bones. Though ‘lucky’ wouldn’t be his choice of words for the boy’s state in a thousand years.

The physician had come to the conclusion that the lacerations on Merlin’s back had become infected but most of the other cuts and gashes appeared clean. Flogging must have taken place on the first night of his capture. He had carefully rolled the young wizard onto his stomach to be able to treat the wounds but he had to find a more effective way of stopping the infection. Otherwise, the boy would surely succumb to the fever.

The prince was lucky he did not cause more damage by doing what he did. Gaius would never have allowed Merlin to be moved in the first place but there hadn’t been any other option. The variously coloured bruises, though they must cause quite some discomfort if not pain to the young warlock, weren’t Gaius’ biggest concern. Merlin’s dehydration and lack of food in his system worried him. If the boy did not at least drink something his body would soon give up. So he stepped into the carriage every so often to coax some water down the boy’s throat. He could only hope that it was enough to keep him going until he regained consciousness long enough to swallow on his own again. 

The man was disheartened to see the boy he’d come to care for in such a state. Even with everyone’s help, they would need a small miracle to save Merlin from certain death.  
A miracle, or perhaps, magic.

As dawn crept closer Gaius made his way to the ladies’ tent. The prince was still asleep as far as he could tell, but he knew very well that Arthur would be sleeping lightly.  
“Lady Morgana.” He called quietly.  
“Lady Morgana, I require your assistance.” He repeated.

The lady opened her eyes, being disoriented for a second before shaking it off.  
She silently slid from the tent, being careful not to wake the others.  
“How can I help you, Gaius?” she inquired in a hushed whisper.  
The physician merely asked her to follow him into the carriage.

“How is he holding up?” she asks as she sinks down to her knees to sit.  
Gaius looks at her for a moment with a solemn expression on his face. Morgana was struck suddenly by how much older he looked.  
“The infection is making it difficult for his body to heal. He is strong but the injuries are so numerous.” Morgana swallowed as the man trailed off, not daring to finish the sentence.  
The woman set her jaw in determination, quickly asking how she could be of help.  
“This will not be easy, lady Morgana, but I’m going to need you to do exactly as I tell you.”  
She nods quickly, promising to follow his instructions to the letter.

With that Gaius guides her hands to rest on Merlin’s chest and stomach. He waited for a reaction from either of the two, but none came. Morgana looked at the man with confused eyes, not understanding how this would be helping at all.  
Gaius picked up one of the books from the floor of the carriage and told Morgana to repeat his words.  
As she did so Morgana felt something flowing through her. She continued repeating after Gaius, allowing the feeling to grow stronger. It gathered together in a ball across her chest before flowing down her arms and out through her fingers. 

Her eyes fluttered opened as the sensation disappeared. Her eyes widening as she heard Merlin gasp next to her before he sunk back to the wooden surface below. He breathed more freely and steadily now. She could hardly believe it.  
“Gaius, what was that?” 

“I should have told you this a long time ago, dear, but with you being so close to the king I feared it would do more harm than good.” He explained, leaving the girl looking even more confused and slightly frightened.  
“You have magic, child. You can wield its power.” Morgana was struck silent by the physician’s words, her gaze sweeping across Merlin’s form.  
“What did I just do?”  
“You have performed a simple healing spell to repel infections and ease his fever.”

Morgana looked down to her friend fearfully. “What have I done?”  
Her voice is laced with worry and fright at the mention of the craft, her eyes searching Gaius’ for an answer.  
“Everything is alright, my lady. The incantation was near perfect.” The physician explains.  
“Go on and feel his forehead, his fever has gone down significantly, and all thanks to you.”

Morgana reached out, lightly placing her hand on the servant’s forehead before her gaze snaps back to Gaius in astonishment.  
He still looked bad, there was no denying that, but there was a slight shift in his body. He seemed just a bit more okay.  
Morgana looked warily down to her hands. She didn’t understand how it was possible. How could the thing that had brought her family so much grief and destruction also be the source of healing and goodness? 

As if the man had read her very thoughts he explained that magic was no more a tool than a hammer or a knife. It is not evil by nature, it is only the nature and intentions of the person wielding it which determines the use.  
“I know it is a lot to take in, my lady, but a person does not choose whether they are born with magic. They only choose how to use it.”  
The woman didn’t meet Gaius’ eyes, her mind working at far too fast a pace.  
“I apologise, dear, I should have told you this sooner. But I feared it would put too heavy a burden on you to hide it from Uther. I felt it was best to keep you in the dark.” 

“I understand, Gaius. Thank you for trying to protect me.” Morgana had returned to her usual composure; calm and collected, but the physician knew there was much more going on below the surface.  
“It is I who should be thankful for you, Lady Morgana.” He insists, gesturing to the boy still mainly unconscious under the blanket.  
“Without you, I would be at the end of my capabilities in helping Merlin.”

Gaius watches Morgana take in his words. But Gaius can see a tinge of determination set in her eyes. After a moment, Morgana declares that she wants to further help Merlin, making a proud smile appear on the old man’s face.  
“Very well.” He accepts.

“Would you please take my mortar and pestle from the crate to your right?” Morgana turns and rummages through the objects, she recognises many of the jars from Gaius’ chambers.  
“And the beeswax, it should be close by.” The man adds, thanking the girl afterwards.  
The physician glances back to her, seeing her obvious confusion to the lack of use of her magical abilities. It will take time for her to get used to the idea alone.  
“Best not to push yourself too far, my lady. You still have much to learn. I’ll go and start a fire.” With that, the physician leaves the carriage, only turning back to the girl to warn her not to get up too quickly before walking away with oil and a bag of dried herbs.

Morgana pulls Merlin’s blanket over his chest again before picking up the beeswax and mortar for Gaius. She soon realises that his advice was founded in truth as she has to hold herself upright on the side of the carriage. She hadn’t realised that the act of magic had drained her so suddenly.  
She makes her way over to the fire, where Gaius seems to be struggling with the flints before Guinevere walks up behind him and offers a hand. The man nods to her in thanks before turning to gather his supplies. 

“I’ll be making a yarrow and rosemary salve to help mainly with cuts and infections and you can work on grinding yarrow to create a styptic powder to help stop bleeding if any injuries open again.”  
Gaius looked around their small, hastily set up camp, knowing they wouldn’t be able to stay here for much longer.  
“Or, Gods forbid, if any new ones are sustained. We’ll need quite a bit, it’s best to have a pouch each.”

Morgana silently set to work, watching Gaius heat oil and beeswax before adding dried herbs. Meanwhile, Lisarel was gathering together the blankets and sleeping mats and Guinevere had started preparing their breakfast; porridge by the looks of it.  
Any of them had yet to take notice of the prince’s disappearance.

Arthur hadn’t quite slept that night, his mind merely blocked out everything around him to provide the false feeling of rest to his body. But he knew better. He would’ve been better off to stay on guard all night through to spare himself the nauseous feeling turning in his stomach. But it hardly made a difference now.  
He had crept out of his tent as quietly as possible. It wasn’t like he was trying to get away or deceive the others. It was just that he could hardly bear even the thought of anyone speaking to him right now. He was groggy, sleep-deprived, hungry and nauseous, injured, anxious, dizzy, dazed and just plain angry at the world. He was worried for his friends, scared of being caught, frightened of seeing Merlin’s injuries close up and absolutely and completely terrified to the very core of his being at the thought of having to watch as his toad-faced idiot servant drew his last breath. 

He had to be brave. If not for himself then for everyone else. For Merlin.  
The prince finally shoved the cover of the carriage away, stepping inside.  
His racing mind suddenly grew still and everything melted away.  
He looked down to Merlin, shivering a sweaty under the cover of his blanket. He nearly fell to his knees in relief at the steady rising and falling of the boy’s chest, beginning to breathe again. He smiled as his vision blurred.

“Thank you.” He sobbed dryly.  
He had no idea who he was thanking. There wasn’t anyone to thank, but he felt he had to.  
He was given a chance to keep Merlin by his side and would see to it that it was not wasted.  
Arthur was pulled out of his thought as Merlin mumbled something over and over. He couldn’t make sense of it.  
The prince sat down beside him, placing the damp cloth on the boy’s forehead again. He sighed, looking down to Merlin’s arms. There were many injuries, but for now, the cuts didn’t seem to be infected, which was a miracle in itself. His hands and fingers were wrapped in bandages and lined with horrible smelling salves to help heal the cuts and burns, though Arthur was sure Merlin’s nails would take a long time to grow back.

With that thought he took Merlin’s wrist and placed his left hand onto the servant’s chest, remembering how elevating wounded areas above the heart could help prevent or reduce swelling.  
The prince chuckled to himself. Looks like he did remember something from Merlin’s ramblings about Gaius’ teachings. The prince had never really taken an interest in healing, but Merlin seemed captivated by it even if he would be the last person to admit to the old man himself. He could look like a lovestruck schoolboy while reading one of the physician’s medicinal books.

The boy could prepare poultices, oils, salves, tinctures, extracts and so much more without batting an eye. He didn’t need to stop and think about what to do, he simply moved and created the remedies with the same ease of pouring water into a goblet. Arthur found himself not only impressed with merlin’s skill but almost captivated by his diligence and need to help people. He was a complete moronic idiot, yes, but Merlin was something else entirely.

He picked up the boy’s other hand, listening closely to his mumblings to see if he could make anything out of them. But, alas, to no avail.  
He simply hoped that if he stayed here long enough, the world would stop around them. Merlin would open his eyes and be fully recovered in the time it took one to blink. They would travel further, maybe head East in search of a village where they could lay low while Merlin recovered.  
He had briefly considered going to Ealdor, but his father was sure to figure out where Merlin’s mother lived and it would have simply been too obvious to go there, not to mention it would be dangerous for anyone to harbour fugitives of Camelot. 

He could hear the fire crackling behind the cover of the carriage and the rustling noises as people moved through their tiny campsite. Merlin’s mutterings had slowed, now. Coming out more as breaths than as words. Arthur knows the boy must be exhausted. He knows the Camelotian torture techniques. He’d learned about them as a young boy. At the time the only thing he thought of them was that they were horrible and that surely they weren’t used anymore. He was quickly proven wrong after sneaking into the dungeons on a dare with Morgana. 

He had been maybe 9 years old at the time, but the sights he was met with haunted his nightmares for years to come. His father’s fury hadn’t helped either and he quickly learned that his father was not a man you wanted to anger. He’d declined any and all following dares Morgana sent his way, at least for a while.  
He didn’t care anymore about whether or not she laughed or insulted him for being scared because, in truth, he was. Generally, not of the dare, but of having to face his father should anything go wrong.

The man had instilled a fear in him that night, that would ensure Arthur wouldn’t go against his orders again. Uther shaped Arthur into the obedient son he was expected to be in only a few minutes, the silent soldier. But his father hadn’t known the cost of his actions as Arthur shied away from his touch. 

He looked down to Merlin’s face again, seeing his eyes looking back to him. His eyelids seemed to weigh a ton as far as the prince could tell, and it took great effort on Merlin’s part to keep them open. Still a small smile made it’s way to Merlin’s features. He breathed calmly and Arthur quickly reached for the waterskin next to the boy’s head.  
“Here.”  
Merlin swallowed dryly at the sight before trying to take the waterskin from Arthur’s hand. The prince knew his servant couldn’t drink on his own yet, but he didn’t want to make Merlin feel utterly incompetent. So he decided the best course of action was to simply provide support, being sure to not let the entire weight of the skin rest on Merlin and to support his friend’s neck for a few moments. Merlin coughed slightly as some of the water spilt next to his mouth and laid his head down again. 

“You truly are pathetic, Merlin.” Arthur chuckled, as the warlock smiled back at him.  
“It’s good to have you back.” The prince followed up. 

Merlin didn’t reply, he merely smiled again as his eyes slid close once more. Arthur pulled the servant’s blanket up again after it slid down while drinking before deciding to simply sit and wait for Merlin to wake again. He would be called out of the carriage by the others soon. For breakfast or help with clearing up their campsite. Just as the thought passed his mind he heard his name being called.

The sound sent a shiver down his spine. Something wasn’t right. Guinevere’s voice sounded unsure, almost frightened as she called out to him. He moved quickly, grabbing the hilt of his sword as he exited the carriage. Sure enough, he had been correct in guessing that something was awry. Their small camp had been encircled.  
He stood watching, body on edge, as one man stepped forward.

He was already beating himself up. He shouldn’t have let this happen, he should have been on watch. He should have protected them better. Whatever happened next, it was on his hands.  
“Arthur Pendragon.” The man said calmly.  
“That’s me.” He sighed, preparing for whatever threat the man would bestow upon him.  
Perhaps he wanted to fight the prince, or kill him. Maybe it was more about the goods they carried, though these people didn’t look like robbers. He didn’t have time to think on it more as confusion and surprise swept in at the man’s next words.

“We mean you no harm, young prince. We are here for Emrys, to help him to a speedy recovery from the wrongs that have been bestowed upon him.”  
Arthur frowned, shocked into silence. That didn’t make any sense?  
“I’m sorry, you must be mistaken. We don’t know anyone named Emrys.” Morgana interrupted.

The man in the dark robes smiled kindly, explaining that this person was known among the druids under the name Emrys but was known differently by his friends.  
“Emrys is the warlock you saved from death just a single day past.”  
“You mean Merlin?” Arthur said, somehow accusingly.  
The man nodded and the physician stepped forward. “He speaks the truth, sire. Merlin is indeed Emrys.”

Arthur was wary, to say the least. He knew the druids were peaceful, but his father’s words still resonated in his mind. He didn’t even need to try and ignore them before because it was about Merlin but he began to feel more outnumbered as the seconds ticked by. If these people decided they wanted Arthur dead, he would be with a snap of their fingers. Gods forbid they harmed Merlin. 

He gripped his sword tighter at the thought, his heartbeat picking up.

“How can I be sure that you don’t mean him any harm?”  
The man took a moment to think before reaching for a string of twine around his neck and holding the necklace out for the young prince to see. It did not escape Arthur's attention that some of the druids began speaking amongst themselves in hushed tones.

“This necklace belonged to my father, my father’s father and his father before him all the way back to the days of the old religion. I will give it to you, along with my solemn word that we will do everything in our power to help you all, as a sign of trust.”

If this pendant truly meant this much to the man then it was no small offering. If this man did not speak the truth about his intentions this necklace would surely not be his way of procuring the prince’s trust.  
Arthur couldn’t decide. His mind was overflowing with all the possible worst-case scenarios and all of them ended with dead bodies on the ground. He couldn’t allow that to happen, but he also knew that Merlin would need more help than they could offer and magic did provide a great answer to the boy’s plea.

He knew he had to take this chance. It would help Merlin greatly and provide the others with a chance to truly rest their minds before they would inevitably need to make another getaway from the knights that were, no doubt, pursuing them.  
“We will accept whatever decision you make, Arthur Pendragon, but you must know that we truly only wish to help. Emrys is of our own people and he will be of great importance to all of our futures. We can offer shelter for the time being and help him heal while you rest.”  
Arthur sighs. If this man is, in fact, lying then he’s damn good at it, he’ll give him that much. 

“Fine.” He accepts.  
“But I will be informed of anything and everything that happens to him. as for Merlin’s state, You will discuss whatever you do or whatever is going on with him with Gaius. And you will not act unless I give you permission to do so, is that understood?”  
The man confirms, complimenting the prince on his devotion to his friend. Arthur has to stop himself from scowling. This is no devotion to him. This is caring from the people he loves, protecting them from harm. That isn’t devotion, it is simply expected.

He takes the man’s necklace in between his fingers, studying it for a few moments.  
It was a simple pendant of the triskelion within a circle. Quite small if he was being honest, and yet, he could practically feel the power it held as the magick tickled at his fingers. It had been passed down from generation to generation, used in great practices and ancient rituals. This pendant was exactly what the druid leader claimed it to be and Arthur was rather unsure of whether this helped his trust for the man or worked against it.

Arthur watched as the other members of the clan stepped forward as well. They wore modest clothing and many people’s cloaks were torn or worn out from years of use, they didn’t seem to carry many supplies nor did they seem the type to have boisterous campsites with treasures thrown about. Still, they moved with a certain pride about them. It was hard to describe but it was almost like these people existed on an entirely different level. They moved through the trees as if they were part of them, stepped forward without ever having to seek footing.  
“Please, follow me.” The leader said.  
“We will take you to our camp.”

Arthur agreed and the druids moved away. The group moved quickly to clean up their campsite with the help of the druid people. Meanwhile, Arthur stood back, simultaneously keeping a close eye on the carriage and on his friends.

As they began moving Arthur claimed a spot to the side of the carriage where he could easily look around for anything suspicious.  
The leader of the clan walked towards the prince once more, a kind expression showing on his face.  
“Forgive me,” the prince said, “It slipped my mind entirely but who are you?”  
“I took no offence, I assure you, your your highness.” The man replied.

“My name is Odhran, son of Odachan. I followed in my father’s footsteps as the leader of my clan. We reside here, in the Darkling woods but we have sister clans near in the White mountains.”  
Arthur nodded to himself, taking in the new information.  
“I suppose I should thank you for your kindness.” He said as they left the small clearing behind.  
“Not at all, sire.” Odhran dismissed.  
“It is our duty and our pleasure to help others, especially a person such as Emrys.”

Arthur ignored the last bit. He didn’t want to know what fate or destiny was to befall Merlin. It couldn’t be upon him yet, could it? It was Arthur’s experience that great destinies rarely left happy people. No. Destiny was torture to those meant for greatness. The suffering they had to endure to reach it was out of bounds and Merlin has had enough suffering for about a decade.

Lisarel walked with one of the druid women known as Sidheag. She turned out to be Odhran’s daughter and the two seemed to be getting along quite nicely.  
Meanwhile, Guinevere was seated on the bench, leading the carriage along the path. She had already pointed out that the path was slowly getting smaller so either they would have to find a different route to the druid camp or they would have to transport Merlin and their cargo in some other way, Morgana rode on her own horse and Arthur had been placed on Finn. He was glad for it. Morgana’s destrier was a magnificent animal, but the prince had always preferred Coursers due to their speed. They were often much easier to train than the stallions as well, so there was that. 

Arthur’s eyes glance to the carriage next to him frequently, making sure that no one enters it. His mind drifts to the boy inside and what he, himself, was doing. He had committed treason against his father and against his kingdom for the sake of a person who had hidden his sorcery and broken the law, knowing full well that magic was outlawed in Camelot. He wandered to the inexplicable scenarios that had never made sense before but now started to become clear as day. Merlin had been using magic this whole time, so close to Arthur that he felt a complete fool for not seeing it earlier. Hell, Merlin confessed to sorcery within a month of arriving in Camelot and he had simply brushed it off.

So, now, he was risking his kingdom, his crown, his family, his friends and his very life to help Merlin.  
And by the Gods, he was perfectly fine with that.


	6. Chapter 6

Just as Guinevere had predicted the path began to slim down, forcing Arthur to walk behind the carriage. Normally he would have taken the front to see where they were going but seeing as Morgana was there and Guinevere had a good lookout as well he simply hung back to keep watch over the entrance to the carriage itself. So far no one had tried to enter it yet but he did keep a close eye on the young girls and boys constantly approaching it with bundles of dandelions, leaving them just inside. It seemed innocent enough but it was still Merlin inside.

The prince wondered why these children had even come along in the first place. Perhaps since the druids needed to gather supplies, dandelions apparently, for whatever reason they decided not to waste the journey. It was about half a day’s travel on foot according to what Sidheag had told Lisa. 

Arthur also spotted the children running off and returning with rushes and long grass, handing them to the older people among the clan who simply walked the path. The prince watched as they created dolls and something resembling a square with elongated corners leading out of it. Perhaps this was a tradition among them or just a way to keep busy while travelling. Whatever the case, it left him slightly confused. Surely it was more important to be on the lookout for attacks or pay extra mind to where you were going even if you know the path. Actually, especially id you know the path. The familiarity can lower your guard and make leave you feeling safe even when you’re not. He’s found himself walking familiar paths and then suddenly coming to not knowing where exactly he was or how he got there. 

Arthur quickly shook off his confusion as Odhran made his way over to him. He dismounted his horse as the others also halted in their pace.  
“I’m afraid the trees stand even closer together the more we make way to the camp, your highness. It will not be possible to reach it with the carriage. I suggest we divide your supplies among my people to help transport the load and Emrys can be carried by a few-“

“The boy is not to be moved!” shouted the physician warningly.  
The man quickly climbed out of the carriage, careful of the many bundles of dandelions before striding over to the duo with much faster a pace than could be comfortable for him.  
Gaius quickly repeated his order, explaining that moving Merlin at this time could cause internal wounds to open anew and worsen his state significantly.  
“Should any internal bleeding reoccur at this point in his healing he will pass on in mere hours if that. I barely managed to keep it at bay when the boy was first brought to me and I fear I will not succeed a second time.”

Arthur’s eyes widened at this, his head snapping back to look at the druid leader. Did he know? Did he plan this? Had he hoped Arthur would allow Merlin to be moved again therefore directly causing him to die? Had he lied? Had he tried to trick them?  
Arthur blinked away the thoughts. This man was now his ally, the prince reminded himself. Odhran had proven as much by giving Arthur an important family artefact.  
Plus if this man wanted Merlin dead he could likely suck the air from the boy’s lungs without ever having to so much as look at him. No, that did not help Arthur’s fears. Not in the slightest.

“Is there a different path we can take?” The physician asked.  
Odhran thought for a moment.  
“There is another path that might be broad enough to reach the camp by carriage, but it passes through a territory claimed by notorious bandits.”

“Come now, Odhran,” Arthur boasted “We’ve taken on bandits without even breaking a sweat.”  
The leader of the clan looked disapprovingly at the young prince, warning him not to take his words lightly.  
“Perhaps if more knights were here with us I would not be so worried but since they are not I must urge you not to underestimate these people, sire. They do not ask for a reason to kill.”

Arthur’s confidence about the situation took a hit at the man’s words but Odhran did have a point. The prince knew very well that some bandit groups had no mercy on anyone, no matter who they were, but surely if the druid camp was this close to their part of the woods these two groups would have struck some sort of bargain. That, at least, would be the smart way to go about it. Unless these bandits feared the druids for their magic and made it a point not to bother them. Arthur could see how these people simply walking through the bandit’s territory could lead to serious altercations if not bloodshed.

“Fine then, what if we just go around their territory as well?” The prince suggested.  
“I don’t mind adding time to our travel if it means keeping everyone safe.”  
They fell silent for a moment, thinking over the possibility. Really, Arthur wasn’t too worried about the bandits, his focus was much heavier on having to go back towards Camelot. The bandits may not immediately recognise him, but the knights surely would.

“We can’t avoid it entirely without coming too close to Camelot but I suppose it is possible to pass through it in a calm area. However, even without disturbances, this route would add another day to our journey, at least, and we cannot afford that.”  
The prince shook his head.  
“You misunderstand me. Everyone is to follow this path to the camp save for a few people. Merlin will not be moved and Gaius can stay in the carriage to tend to him. I will take the bench and steer us in whatever direction you indicate from atop Finn here.” Arthur pats the horse’s shoulder.  
Arthur could see the druid leader playing out the different scenarios in his mind as Gaius already voiced his agreement, stating again that Merlin wasn’t to be moved for at least another full day to allow injuries to heal.

“You believe we would be inconspicuous enough not to get noticed?” he asked.

“Yes,” Arthur confirms. “As far as anyone can tell at first glance there will be but two people with an old shabby carriage. It should be fine.”  
After pondering for another few moments Odhran finally agreed. Arthur could tell the man didn’t like it but the prince refused to let Merlin pay the price for more of his mistakes.  
He’d already been cause for more than enough damage to his friend. 

They allowed the horses to rest while Odhran addressed his people.  
Meanwhile, Morgana stepped up with threats of making Arthur a fool in front of everyone who was willing to listen if he didn’t make it back. Arthur laughed at her excuse for telling him to be careful.

“You do know that simply saying ‘be safe’ is an option, right?” he laughed.  
“Oh, please, Arthur, you know how I feel about being boring like that.” she joked back.

The prince moved closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulder in comfort. Morgana was a strong young woman and he knew that better than anyone. She would go to the ends of the earth to protect the people she held dear, one of which was Arthur despite their endless teasing and disagreements. But the prince also knew that she often played brave and joked away her fears. She had learned to put up the same walls he had in her years under Uther’s careful guidance. 

They were both learning. Figuring out how to break them and let their true selves be nothing more and nothing less than what they were. But the king had always been there, in person or in their heads, shaping them both to his will over the years. Sometimes it was hard to figure out which parts of their minds were truly their own and which pieces had been Uther all along.  
Guinevere had always looked out for her mistress, but Morgana didn’t have what Arthur had. At least not that he knew of.  
Arthur had been lucky to find Merlin, or lucky for Merlin to have found him if you will. The boy had proven to him, for the first time in years, that the prince might actually be better than he gave himself credit for.  
Merlin saw through the walls, broke them down stone by stone, identifying each piece and placing it where it belonged to help rebuild them in the correct way. 

He had helped to build sturdy walls that protected Arthur without taking away his vision. He had notified the prince of the pieces that would make things difficult for him and what stepping stones he could use. He had taken it upon himself to let the prince know that it was okay to have walls so long as they did not tower high above to cut you away from the world and he did it, all of it, without ever knowing how much of an impact he truly had.

If anyone of the druid people had any doubts or remarks about the change of plans they did not speak of them, for which Arthur was grateful.  
He hugged Morgana before parting, bidding his goodbyes to the other two women before they each wished good luck upon the old physician as well. Gaius was grateful for the gesture and told the girls to stay out of trouble until they met again.

Soon Arthur had taken his place at the reins of the carriage while Odhran mounted Finn with slight uneasiness displayed on his features. Gaius tapped the prince on the shoulder before handing him a rather old and coarse looking cloak. He also notified him quietly that Merlin was awake again before retreating back to the carriage to change Merlin’s bandages. The physician had informed him of what was happening but he doubted the boy had picked up very much of it. Arthur thanked Gaius and forced himself to focus as he turned the carriage around to follow behind Odhran. 

As they made their way back to the path a thick silence hung around them.  
Neither the prince nor the druid leader was very comfortable with the other. But what was worse is that Arthur could hear every last tiny shuffle behind him as Gaius tended to Merlin’s wounds. He could hear the clanging of glass jars, the uncorking of a waterskin, the small hisses and gasps and groans coming from the boy and the mumbled apologies and worries from the old man. He would soon lose his mind if he didn’t find something else to focus on.

“You said before that Merlin would be important in the future. What did you mean by that?”  
The man didn’t reply to Arthur’s question. In fact, he gave no indication of even having heard the prince’s words at all.  
“Odhran,” Arthur called, watching the man’s shoulders slump a bit as he sighed.

“I’m sorry, sire. It is not my place to tell you.”  
“Why?” Arthur frowned.  
The dark-haired man looked to the prince, his eyes displaying something far too close to pity for Arthur’s liking.

“Knowledge of the future is a heavy burden, your highness, and changing it is not an easy feat. Knowing your future often assures that you find it, especially through the actions you take to prevent it from happening.”

The prince fell silent for a few moments. Odhran’s words implied a difficult path ahead seeing as the man believed they would want to change it and Arthur’s mind was already plaguing him with the knowledge. He understood Odhran’s warning now.  
Scene after scene appeared and vanished before his mind’s eye, every image more gruesome than the one before it until his breath caught in his throat and his heartbeat resonated inside his skull. The prince swallowed thickly, looking up again to find Odhran staring back at him.

The man had this strange look in his eyes as if something just clicked in his mind. Arthur didn’t even want to know what it was anymore, convincing himself he didn’t care. If it had this effect on Odhran, he didn’t need to find out what it would do to him.

Odhran himself though was mainly befuddled, if a bit surprised after the young prince unknowingly confirmed his suspicions. The druid leader would choose to keep quiet though, until such a time where the prince would actually listen to his words and take them in. It wasn’t as though there were no signs before, truth be told: the prince’s energy itself was a great indicator, but it might have been nothing at that point.  
Now, however, there was no denying it. The older man simply hoped the prince would find it within himself to forgive him for withholding such information.

Arthur soon accepted the man wouldn’t be giving him a straight answer and continued riding in silence for a good, long while. In truth, it had become tedious and boring, so the prince pushed himself even more so as to not lose his focus. As soon as you let down your guard something will go wrong, he’s learned that much from experience.

It luckily didn’t take much longer for Odhran to slow his pace so Finn walked next to the carriage. He addressed the prince saying they were about to cross through the bandit’s territory. It was a rather undisturbed piece of it but he still warned Arthur to keep his eyes peeled for anything.  
With that Arthur knocked onto the wood behind him to notify Gaius before taking the reins between his fingers again and holding it just a little tighter. He bit down on his own teeth as he took a deep breath, checking to see his sword would slide free in an instant if need be.

He watched Odhran steel himself before guiding Finn to a grove of Alder trees, his gaze shifting around as Arthur turned the carriage turned to follow him.  
The atmosphere was tense as the carriage rumbled slightly on the dry soil. The sun broke through the trees every once in a while, flooding Arthur’s vision with light. He squinted against it as he pulled up the hood on his cloak.

He had been correct in his analysis of the garment. It was made from a rather coarse fabric and had clearly become well worn over years of use. The cloak hid his hauberk and otherwise finer clothing. He had opted for his most basic clothes to wear underneath his armour to help get Merlin out of Camelot but even so, there was no denying that they were fine clothes. They would have revealed his status in mere seconds and increase the risk of being attacked so Arthur was grateful for the physician’s gift.

Arthur felt his body become tense. Something was very much off. He saw it in the horses’ ears and the way their muscles tensed. The same thing soon happened with Finn as Odhran looked around wildly, clearly not used to his kind of situation.  
The prince found himself grateful to his father at that moment since the king had ordered all horses to receive basic war training before they were sold in case they were needed for battle, including the two Palfreys who currently pulled the carriage.  
Of course, Guinevere Courser had received more training since he often went along in royal escorts with the king’s ward and thus needed to learn to ignore the natural instinct to immediately run from loud, bright or dead things. Arthur himself had to train a few horses before his father allowed him to pick one for himself. He enjoyed the bond it created between the animal and its rider and soon became much more appreciative of the horses as he realised just how much they had to push themselves. 

It couldn’t be easy to ignore the flashing of metal along with the thundering screams and clanging of weapons, or the smell of blood and death. Hell, he’d give an honorary medal to whatever horse would naturally run towards the enemy or even hold their position as rows of foot soldiers charged at them. He presumed he would be able to keep that medal for the entirety of his life.

The prince forced himself to keep looking forward as he spotted men closing in from the side. They walked slowly, weapons drawn, but clearly not in any kind of rush to get to them.  
Meanwhile, Odhran was becoming rather frantic.  
“Calm down!” Arthur commanded.  
“Until the moment they attack us we don’t do anything.”

The druid leader forced his heaving chest to slow by clamping his mouth shut. He would lose control of his horse if he kept this up. Finn was already much more agitated than he would normally be and if Odhran didn’t calm down he would surely frighten the horse further. 

Gaius rapped his knuckles against the wood of the carriage as if to ask what was happening.  
the prince quietly informed the man that they had been surrounded.  
“Keep quiet, I’ll do what I can.” He promised.

The people that surrounded them crept closer and Arthur couldn’t help the confusion that rose within him. There were big men and strong women among the group and then also youngsters, even children. The prince looked around, spotting more of them. They moved along with the adults, closing in on the carriage as if they had done this a thousand times over. Some looked terrified to the point where they might burst out crying, others forced their faces into angry frowns to copy the adults in threatening their victims. But they were children.

Arthur stopped the carriage, waiting in anticipation for the next move. Odhran still hadn’t managed to get a hold of himself again. It was beginning to affect Finn so the prince repeated the order to calm down once again, clicking his tongue to soothe the horse. 

As he looked around the group once more he saw a woman making her way towards them. She had this odd look in her eye as if she was asking Arthur not to attack.  
“We mean no disturbance, we’re merely passing through.” The prince informs the woman. She’s clearly the leader of this group, with eyes trained on her for orders.

“I don’t think so.” She accuses.  
“I believe you'll be of great use to me.”

Arthur recounts the orders and requests he’d received from bandits in the past, but none of them seemed to fit here. He didn’t think she would ask to give up goods or money since she could have easily taken it from them with the number of people that surrounded them. She also wouldn’t just kill him since, again, she had more than enough people to do that without ever having to reveal herself. She didn’t seem to be threatening him at all.

“You will follow me.” The woman states plainly and loudly, standing a few yards away, almost daring him to refuse.  
Arthur nods curtly to the woman and spurs the horses into motion again, knowing he cannot refuse this woman without risking an attack.  
As soon as he does the bandits that surrounded the carriage break from their formation and run back through the trees. Soon they’ve all disappeared save for a few. The woman looks back, calculating the exact time to make her move and climbs onto the bench of the carriage in one fluid motion as it’s about to pass her by.

“Keep following this path. I’ll give you further directions when needed.”  
Odhran wants to say something. It’s too obvious from his body language. The way he keeps glancing back and opening his mouth before snapping it closed again, huffing to himself in annoyance.

Arthur scoots away a bit, putting more distance between him and the unknown lady.  
The prince doesn’t speak at first, even with the woman looking to him with an amused expression on her face. She seems perfectly at ease even with Arthur’s sword lying there in plain view.

“When are you finally going to ask?” She inquires, breaking the silence. Arthur spots Odhran looking back to him worriedly but shakes his head to the man indicating to simply keep riding as the woman give more instructions.

“Go on, ask. I’ll answer whatever you want to know.” She encourages.  
“Where are you taking us?” His voice is loud and clear as he speaks, making a small smile appear on the woman’s lips as amusement twinkles in her eyes.

“To our home.” That’s an odd way to phrase it.  
“Why?”  
The careless amusement seems to melt away for a second as she moves her body forward to lean her elbows on her thighs. Something is clearly bothering the woman or she wouldn’t have let slip her mask of confidence. Something was more important to her than keeping up her façade.

“We’ve got a few sick people among us. I want you to help us treat them and after that, you’re free to go wherever.” Arthur takes a moment to look her over, judging whether or not she is speaking the truth.  
“We can’t.” Odhran interrupts suddenly. “We must make it to our destination by nightfall.”  
Arthur is left confused once again, something that’s becoming more and more of a habit around the druid leader. 

They never discussed anything about arriving somewhere in time and yet Odhran insists that it is absolutely imperative that they arrive before nightfall or else everything will have been for nothing. At this point the prince hasn’t a clue what the man is talking about while the woman merely smiles back at the druid leader, preparing to speak again.

Seeing as she is the leader of a group of ‘notorious bandits’ the prince doesn’t want to let on anything. He interrupts her before she can counter Odhran’’s words;  
“What makes you think I know how to treat them.” 

The woman scoffs as her eyebrows raise on her forehead. She seems truly surprised that Arthur would still try that tactic on her.  
“You don’t,” she states simply.  
“But he does.” The woman pulls back the cover of the carriage behind her, revealing the old physician sitting against the side, his hand draped over one of the boxes with glass bottles and herbs poking out of the side. The woman frowns slightly as she spots Merlin, taking notice of the many bandages and splints, as well as the difficulty with which the boy’s chest moves up ad down as he breathes.

Arthur turns back to the front, looking out beyond the horses with a sigh.  
“You know who we are” Arthur concludes defeatedly.  
“Word travels fast, young Pendragon. Especially word of the prince himself committing treason and breaking condemned sorcerers out of jail.”  
The woman chuckles, assuring the prince that her lips are sealed for as long as they need to be.

“I couldn’t let slip the chance of having a court physician look at my people.”  
Strangely enough, Arthur completely understands. While these people are likely to know some basic herbal properties, their knowledge and skills couldn’t ever compare to Gaius’. The man had many years of experience in the field of medicine, having been the court physician ever since Arthur could remember.  
“Why are there children in your gang?” Arthur asks bluntly. There’s not really a way to sugar-coat his question and even if there was he didn’t want to. It wasn’t right, surely she knew that. Arthur gives her an accusing glare as she casts her gaze down in shame. 

“It is not my choice, but I can’t say I don’t understand either. I was one of them myself at some point.” Arthur falls silent completely, shocked at the revelation. It had already been strange to him to see a woman in a group of bandits, let alone as its leader. But now she was confessing that she had lived this way since she was a child. It was a rather harsh reality to come face to face with.

“You’ve no idea how many young people show up. Desperate and in need. They join us because they simply have no other option.” She continued.  
“They have to eat to stay alive but they do not have land to farm or jobs to work after your father takes over their village to add to the land of Camelot. And they’re the lucky ones; They still breathe. I’ve watched children as young as 8 be slaughtered by knights for stealing a loaf of bread to feed themselves.”

It’s the prince’s turn to look down in shame. He knows his father’s rules all too well. The man preaches of justice and fairness and then turns around and drowns children in a well for a crime they might at some point commit. Man of the knights did not agree with the king’s methods, but they couldn’t very well go against him. The more he thought, the more of these hypocritical situations rose to the front of his mind.  
Had he been younger he would’ve likely shot up to defend his father’s honour regardless. But he couldn’t, not anymore. There was nothing to defend. 

“Your father has brought prosperity only to himself, not to Camelot, not to the people.” The woman explained.  
“My hope is that once you take the throne you will bring a better time for us all.”

“I don’t know if that’s still an option.” He admitted quietly.  
Arthur is left baffled as the woman stands up on the bench, placing a hand on his shoulder as if to comfort him before telling him to keep on the right side of the path and crawling into the carriage itself.  
The prince looks to Odhran who still looks very uncomfortable but more saddened after having listened in on their conversation.  
Arthur gives him a look asking if he can make sense of anything that just happened but the man simply shrugs his shoulders in defeat.


	7. Chapter 7

As soon as the woman disappeared into the carriage Odhran rode closer to Arthur quietly asking if the prince had an escape plan.

“No, Odhran, I don’t, and I’m not going to make one either. I’m not risking an attack with you as an untrained horseman, me behind a carriage and the leader of a bloody gang of bandits sitting right behind me.” And next to Merlin and Gaius, the prince added in his head.

“Sire, I beg you, we must arrive at the druid camp by dusk at the latest.” Odhran insisted almost desperately

“Explain to me why, exactly, it is so important that we get there today. It’s not like the camp will disappear.” Arthur retorts agitatedly.

Odhran is taken aback for a moment, not having expected such an outburst. The prince was obviously very tense. The druid leader had also noticed how the prince clamped his arm over his side again, perhaps his injuries were becoming more painful from the movement.  
It wasn’t like the man was unable to see the reasons for the prince’s tenseness. He knew exactly why Arthur reacted the way he did. It truly wasn’t difficult to understand with everything that happened stacked on top of each other.

“I’m sorry sire, I cannot say at this time. I-“  
“Why does that not surprise me? You know, for someone who claims to want to help Merlin you’re giving me every reason not to trust a word from your mouth.” The prince accuses.   
A few moments of silence pass between the two as Arthur focuses his eyes grudgingly on the path before him. Arthur doesn’t care if it was rude. Odhran knows more than well enough that he doesn’t have any real trust in Arthur’s book. No piece of jewellery, no matter how important it is so one person, can inspire trust where none has yet been earned. 

“The moon is at its fullest tonight, sire. The peak of its power.” The man said as if that suddenly explained everything. As he saw the prince’s apprehension he spoke further, explaining that the moon’s power would aid greatly in the healing ritual the druids had been preparing.

“Wait, what do you mean ‘the ritual you’ve been preparing’? We left Camelot barely a day ago.” The prince said, now eyeing the druid leader warily. It was seriously becoming annoying how nothing this man said seemed to make sense to the prince. It infuriated him to no end to have someone explain something in what was probably the simplest way possible and still not understand any of what was being said. Arthur never liked feeling clueless or not knowing what was happening. It was the source of his curiosity and the endless questions that so often got him into trouble but had also aided him in seeing and understanding the world around him. A world of kings, feasts, bravery, knights, complex strategies and alliances between kingdoms. It was all he had known for a long time.  
Until he became aware of the ugly side. The side that had people starving as the noble feasted. The side that let disease spread so long as they were safe behind their castle walls. The side that had no mercy on its subjects and judged cruelly upon minor misdeeds.   
The side that attacked people without reason purely to maintain their power or out of fear that one day those people would fight back.

“A seer informed us a little while past that our help would be needed on the day before the full moon as Emrys would be freed from your father’s chains and flee into the woods. When she told us of Emrys’ injuries I knew we couldn’t waste the moon’s power so we prepared for a healing ritual. She also managed to give some directions as to where we would find you but was unable to point the exact location. We managed to find you because one of the children spotted your fire through the forest.” Odhran said, realising that giving a solid explanation seemed to settle the prince’s nerves.

Arthur thanked the man with a silent nod, his brows drawn together in thought. No, he did not belong in this world. A world filled with gods and spells and moon phases, seers and warlocks and dragons, not to mention the creatures he’d read about in ancient legends, casting them out of his mind as mere stories to scare children with. How could he have been so unbelieving? Were legends not always based on some kind of truth? Were stories not founded in experience? Were myths not passed down to youngsters throughout the centuries? 

“I know it is a lot to understand for someone so newly exposed to it all,” Odhran approached carefully. “But you are as much a part of the magical aspects of life as Emrys is a part of Camelot.”

The man moved Finn even closer to the carriage, obviously becoming more and more at ease on the horse’s back.  
“You cannot tell me you haven’t noticed, or do you truly believe it is a coincidence that the court of Camelot is prone to magic interfering with their lives?”

Arthur decided not to speak as Odhran’s words resounded in his mind. He thought through the many times magic had been present at the very heart of Camelot, quickly being reminded of his father’s tactics in fighting it. He closes his eyes, trying to will away the gruesome images. He remembers seeing many of them: executions, raids, unprompted attacks, destroyed camps, crying, screaming, praying, revenge, rebuttal, fighting, hating…  
But there were also those few images that he didn’t remember seeing. Those that felt just slightly off. 

His thoughts were interrupted as a sharp, stinging sensation flowed through his side. His most prominent injury was definitely open again underneath the bandage. Arthur cursed himself for dropping his pouch of yarrow into the carriage a few hours back, thinking he wouldn’t need it. 

Just as he debated whether he should reach back and look for it or ask Gaius to find it for him the pain vanished bit by bit and Arthur could only think of one thing; Merlin.  
His servant’s face appeared his mind, pale but glancing up at him with a dorkish smile on his lips. The prince breathed out in relief as the pain in his side lessened more, continuing to ponder Odhran’s words.

“So, this is the great sorcerer who managed to wrap the prince of Camelot around his little finger.” The woman chuckles warmly.  
The physician doesn’t reply, simply holding as proud a posture as he can manage in the rather cramped space of the carriage.

The woman sweeps her eyes over the boy’s body, taking in the multitude of injuries with a look of almost defeat on her face, obviously recognising where they came from.

“Hi.” The word rings hardly above a whisper but loud enough to be heard nonetheless.

She smiles almost happily up at the boy lying in front of her. Surprise evident in the quickness of her movement as Gaius regards her suspiciously.   
“Hello,” She greets. “I didn’t realise you were awake.”

“Barely.” Merlin all but breathes out in response. He tries to shift his body upwards, earning a disapproving huff from the old physician as Merlin groans lightly. The pain hits him hard when he moves, delayed by the haziness existing between his ears. His vision swims as his eyes search out the woman before him once again. He should be still. He knows the others will move to accommodate him but he doesn’t want them to have to. 

“Who’re you?” The slurred words leave his lips without a thought. He probably should be more on guard, especially considering the fact that Gaius is as tense as a mother of 9 after a trip to the pond with the kids, but the mist swirling in his head is blurring the edges logic and erasing his common sense. That thought, however, is completely disregarded as a wave of nausea hits him, drowning out the sound of the woman’s voice as she introduces herself.

Gaius didn’t mind the interruption too much since ‘Sybil’ was clearly lying through her teeth about her identity, he only wished it wasn’t causing pain to the young warlock before him.   
Merlin’s already pale skin becomes even more so, feeling as though it is actively pulling against his flesh underneath as bile rises from his stomach. Merlin doesn’t move as the unpleasant tingling runs across his jaw and cheeks, promising an even more unpleasant taste in the near future. 

Gaius moves quickly, pulling the bucket, placed on the left side of the warlock’s head, under Merlin’s chin as the boy turns to the side on instinct before the putrid content of his stomach spews from his mouth. The physician had been unfortunate enough to have misplaced the bucket the first time resulting in Merlin throwing up all over the floor of the carriage and while there hadn’t been much actual food in the boy’s stomach to come back out in the first place, vomit was still one of the physicians most disliked productions of the body. The man hadn’t a single issue in dealing with snot, drool, blood, urine, puss, or even faeces. But the mere mention of vomit had his features twisted in disgust. Merlin on the other hand would clearly show his displeasure in having to handle any of these substances and complain about it for days on end.

Merlin continues retching into the bucket for several long minutes, eyes clenching shut as his stomach seems to roll inside of his body. He coughs and gasps in between dry heaving, making for a positively disturbing set of sounds as he slowly recovers from the nausea. He stays like that for a few more moments, eyes watery and spit dripping from his mouth as he desperately prays and begs never to experience vomit passing through his nose ever again. It made him feel like a child, shivering as his mother kept the fire warm and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. They weren’t pleasant memories but still, they left a fond feeling in his chest. 

Merlin breathes in a bit deeper than is perfectly comfortable as he finally lies back down, swallowing with a sour face as he forces his breathing to slow to where the pain in his ribs is only horrible instead of excruciating. After a few more moments the pain slowly dissipates to a manageable level.

“Sorry,” He mumbles quietly before swallowing again to try and remedy the horrid taste clinging to his tongue.  
“Merlin!” Gaius scolds gently.  
“You’ve absolutely nothing to apologise for, as you well know.” The old man continues to tell Merlin off, insisting that this was simply a side effect of the trauma to his head, for the umpteenth time.

“I know; Gai’s, ‘m so-” Merlin quickly clamps his teeth shut again as the physician shoots him a look of disapproval which soon melts into some kind of affectionate, yet sad, smile. After a quick apologetic glance, the warlock chuckles ever so slightly as he realises he would be laughing if this was any other situation. But he could feel his head pounding along with his heartbeat as his body seemed to spin where he laid. It was a very odd feeling, almost as though his entire body moved one way as his head spun in the opposite direction.

He could smell the different tinctures and ointments beneath the bandages. Yarrow was very prominent, but he also made out passionflower, honey, lavender, ginger, and dandelions for some reason. The last of these was quite strange since Gaius didn’t normally use these flowers in any of his remedies but, then again, their situation wasn’t what one would call ‘normal’. He knew the honey had been generously applied to his palms and somewhere near his hip to remedy the burns. He mostly realised because Gaius had applied wet rags under the bandages there to help cool down the skin.

The poultices didn’t bother him that much even as they pressed awkwardly against his body, but the bits of powder were driving him mad. The ground yarrow constantly shifted under the bandages, tickling at his flesh. Merlin knew it was a necessary evil in order to stop the bleeding but that didn’t stop it from being damned annoying. He listed the other herbs and remedies in his head, explaining to himself what they were likely used for and making a mental map of his own injuries, sighing in defeat as he realised how slow and sluggish his thoughts truly were, forgetting and restating things he had thought mere seconds ago as though he had never thought them at all.

After quickly cleaning out the bucket and opening the back flap of fabric on the carriage to let in some fresh air, Gaius places the bucket back where it was a few minutes ago before returning to Merlin’s side with a waterskin.

The warlock suddenly felt a rush of pain on his side, flinching away from the feeling but unable to stop it. He concluded he must have missed one of the injuries.  
How dazed was his mind that he would simply not notice a wound of that size? Then again, his whole body felt detached from his mind.  
Merlin didn’t mean to do anything. He merely thought of the simplest of healing spells, mostly on pure instinct. He didn’t say the words, he didn’t even think them. But still, he felt the magic flow through his veins as the spell was cast, easing the now distant pain.

“Merlin, can you open your eyes for me, please.”  
After a moment the young warlock’s eyelids part slowly, revealing the slightest flare of gold fading from his eyes.   
A quick glance to the woman sitting on the other side confirms Gaius’ suspicions as she quickly turns to him, her question already displayed in her gaze.  
“What was that?”

“Stop that this instant,” Gaius commands, ignoring the woman’s question entirely.  
“You are in no state to be using magic.”  
Merlin protests lightly at the man’s words, his almost whining groan halted as the physician brings a waterskin to his lips.

The boy quickly forces his head to move from its current position, cursing himself at the sudden movement, but nonetheless finding endless comfort in the cool liquid travelling down his throat, easing not just the burning sensation of bile but also helping to wash away the taste of vomit from his mouth.  
He pulls away soon, however, knowing that drinking too much will only cause him to throw up again later. Something he would rather avoid.

“Wasn’t for me,” Merlin mutters, not even having realised that this statement was, in fact, true.  
Gaius can merely offer a sigh to show his disagreement with Merlin’s actions, his lips curling downwards in a slight frown. Still, he understands the boy.  
Merlin is many things, but above all, he is a healer. It is more than evident in his care for others and easy to spot in how he works tirelessly on the countless remedies the old physician asks for. It is to be noticed in the way he falls asleep with giant books on top of him and it is clear as day in his heart and just as bright as golden fire shining in his eyes. 

The boy would use his dying breath to heal another and it left Gaius entirely torn. Of course, the physician was proud of the boy’s selflessness and want to help those who need it, but on the other hand, he found himself wishing Merlin would be just a bit more selfish at times. Perhaps they wouldn’t even have been in this whole mess, to begin with, if the boy had not acted when he did. If he had simply looked away.

Yes, It would have been a sad day to see a young life lost, a tragic day indeed. But people would continue to live and eventually learn to move on from it, no matter how much it pains them. That was life. It does not stop for tragedy. It does not wait for you to gather yourself back up after being shattered into a million bits and pieces. You must continue even though it is impossible to pick up all of the shards and unthinkable to ever get back up. Part of you will always be left behind in the past, stuck in the tragedy. 

The old man sighs again. He couldn’t ask that of Merlin. He couldn’t ask the boy to ignore his heart, his very nature. The physician had been the same once, a long time ago. He had been idealistic, dreaming of a world where everything was better and brighter, hoping to make it so. He had learned much since then. But he could hardly blame the boy for his mindset. After all, who was to say that Merlin wouldn’t succeed simply because those who came before him failed? 

So Gaius allowed the boy to fall back into a state of unresponsiveness. He knew the boy was conscious but his body and mind had been drained, it would take time and rest to regain his strength. Sadly, these weren’t things you had a lot of when on the run from knights of Camelot. 

“You’re a good father.” The woman’s sincere voice informs Gaius. 

“Pardon?”

“You take very good care of the boy.” She praises.   
“Anyone can see that there is very little you wouldn’t do for him.” 

Gaius looks down to the mighty warlock lying next to him. He still remembers the day this small boy all but stumbled into his quarters, careless and unaware of who he was. He remembers how Merlin grew from that naïve little boy into the young man, the powerful sorcerer and healing prodigy he was today.

“He may not be my son,” The physician admits, “But I love him more dearly than words can describe.”

“I know.” The woman says, looking down.  
“That’s why I’m sorry to have to do this.”

The physician meets her gaze for a confusion filled moment before claws of fear dig into his chest, his heart beating against the cage that is his ribs and his voice caught in his throat as his breathing halts at the sight of the woman’s dagger unsheathing.


	8. Chapter 8

Gaius didn’t dare to breathe, his body frozen in mid-movement as he tried to push himself between Merlin and the steel of the dagger. He was too late.  
The blade lay pressing against Merlin’s throat in a silent threat as the old man slowly sat back down, retreating to his previous position with palms raised in surrender.

He could heal many wounds, but a dagger to the throat was too grave. Even with the use of magic any attempt to heal the boy would be futile. It would fail. Merlin would die in mere seconds.  
The boy lay unresponsive as the cold metal of the dagger pressed down on his skin  
“Please.” Gaius’ quivering voice urges the woman.  
“I beg you, don’t hurt him.” He pleads.

Sybil clenches her jaw at his words, almost looking apologetically at the old man before her. She can see the terror in his pupils and the trembling of his digits as her own heart beats loudly in her chest.  
“I truly am sorry.” She promises.  
“But I cannot rely on the prince’s word alone.”

She had taken a great risk in threatening the life of the warlock these people held so dear, she knew that very well. But it was necessary to ensure their cooperation. She couldn’t afford to simply trust these people not to betray her. Not when her children’s lives were at stake. She couldn’t risk their lives on the hope that these people would simply obey.

The old man’s voice wavered as he tried to speak, forcing the sounds from his lips.  
“What do you want from us?” He asked, never taking his eyes off of the reflective metal of Sybil’s dagger.  
The woman quickly promises that she does not mean to harm Merlin in any way. The boy is simply a means to ensure her ends will be met.  
“Instruct the prince to keep right on this path. We will soon arrive.”

The physician nods before tentatively moving to address the prince just behind the shielding fabric. The man breaks his eyes away from the dagger with great reluctance and Sybil allows him all the time he needs, knowing the jarring shock he must feel deep within his stomach. She listens closely to the little-worded conversation between the physician and the prince, quickly snatching her dagger away from the warlock’s neck as the carriage moves briskly to the side after a loud and disbelieving ‘What?’ leaves the prince’s mouth.

She quickly presses the tip of the dagger back against the boy’s pulse as the cover of the carriage is pulled back. The sight she is met with is pretty much exactly what she had expected: The crown prince of Camelot turned to her with wide eyes, disregarding his own injuries and already having dropped the reins to come to his friend’s aid. It was rather remarkable how this boy was merely the prince’s servant and yet, Arthur seemed entirely fine with losing so much simply to protect the boy.

The young prince’s eyes showed many things; disbelief, dread, uncertainty, fear, resentment…  
For a moment she was sure he would attack her regardless of the dagger at his friend’s throat. But then the rush melted away and Sybil could only watch as Arthur’s eyes moved desperately between her and Merlin, making sure the boy was alright, silently begging her not to kill the warlock.  
Arthur’s voice had been lost to shock and panic as images of bloody throats and deep blue eyes, unseeing to the world, rushed across his mind. He couldn’t make any moves, she had him locked on every side with just a single action. 

“Please.” Arthur finally manages.  
“Please, don’t. Just- Just let him go.”

Sybil’s heart aches at the prince’s plea. She hadn’t harmed the boy at all but he looked about ready to shatter to pieces. She did not enjoy the fear she struck to his heart, or the power the dagger gave her. She didn’t want any of it because it was simply too much.  
Holding the power of life and death at your fingertips like that; It was a strange feeling. Knowing that you could take a life, realising that you could choose to rip someone’s last breath from their lungs. Seeing it, experiencing it, commanding death at such a close distance. Sybil forced her hand to remain still as she steadied her voice within her.

“I’m sorry to have to do this. I do not want to harm him.”  
Arthur’s features don’t change. Sybil wouldn’t be surprised if the prince hadn’t actually heard any of her words at all, too consumed by the terror of loss.

“Then why? Why are you doing this?” Arthur begs her answer.  
“Because I cannot let this opportunity to help my people slip away. Because you’re a Pendragon. Because this is the only way to guarantee that you will not move against me.”

The prince must understand somehow. He must see the logic in her reasoning. But that didn’t change the situation. She was still holding a blade to Merlin’s throat, putting the boy’s life on the line.

“I will not! You have my word, on my life.” Arthur vows, praying that the woman will believe him for his words and stop the threat on Merlin’s life.  
Sybil knows the prince speaks the truth, guilt and shame building in her veins at causing this young man such distress, but she cannot alter her actions now so she steels herself before speaking.

“You will travel down this road until you see the ruins of an old temple.” She pushes on.  
“The physician will follow some of my people to where we keep those of us that have fallen ill and he will do whatever he can to heal them.” She quickly glances to Gaius before returning to meet the prince’s eyes.

“And after that?” Arthur demands distrustfully.  
“After that, you are entirely free to go, as I promised before.” Sybil states simply.  
Arthur breathes in loudly through his nose to stop himself from scoffing, obviously holding back a snide remark about trusting the woman’s promises.

The prince reluctantly turns away from the carriage, clenching his jaw as he encourages the palfrey horses to pick up the pace. Gaius watches silently as the woman retracts her blade the slightest bit from Merlin’s neck, not wanting to accidentally injure the boy should the carriage move unexpectedly. The physician thanked the gods that Merlin seemed to be sleeping through the entire ordeal as he sat down once more. The last thing the boy needed was more threats and trauma after what he’d already been through. 

The sound of hooves against the soil became somewhat calming after a while, but still, Arthur was grateful that Odhran kept quiet as the prince held himself back from doing rash and Merlin-endangering things. Perhaps he should’ve listened when the man told him to make an escape. The druid leader had clearly been confused when Arthur had briskly stopped the carriage and twisted his body to peer into the carriage, watching as the prince’s muscles turned to ice under his skin. It was hard to hear what was being said inside the carriage but he surmised that it wasn’t good.

As Arthur continued down the path he saw more and more piles of stones appear just a little while away from them. They felt important.  
The prince’s mind became quiet as he finally spotted the great stone circle. He heard Odhran mutter some words under his breath but he couldn't make out what the man said. He slowed the horse's pace, nearly stopping them altogether. The prince's mind went blank for a moment and suddenly everything felt just a bit better, just a bit safer. 

Only part of the druid temple remained standing. So Arthur rode the carriage through what he thought to be the front entrance. Stone and rubble from statues and cairns lay scattered about and cast aside. The sacrificial table had split down the middle but didn't seem completely lost. He brought the carriage forward, making sure nothing disturbed one of four great pillars around the altar until they stood just to the side of the stone table in the middle. Even bigger stones surrounded them in a near-perfect circle, blocking the practices that took place within the walls from the view of those who were never meant to see. Arthur wondered how these had been built at all, the stones seemed to be far too large and far too heavy to have been carried by a few men.

Other blocks laid on top of the walls, stacking them even higher. There seemed to be another entrance to the circle on the opposite side. Though this one did not lead out to lush woods and the rest of the forest. This time the stones gave way to a dark alcove. Arthur could only assume this led you into some kind of cave, large enough to hide a group of bandits in since Sybil had told him that this is where they resided.

The prince's voice was lost once again, though this time it was the marvelling at his surroundings that was to blame.  
Arthur shut his eyes for a moment as pictures entered his mind. He watched as a sacrifice was made on the altar before him, restored to its former state. A knife, intricately carved, forcefully brought down upon a perfectly calm young man. A goblet of blood being passed around a circle of practitioners who each spoke in thanks. A feast. A roaring fire. Puppets and symbols made from twigs, leaves and flowers.

The prince took a breath as he pulled away from his own thoughts, steadying himself before leaving the bench of the carriage. Odhran said nothing as he dismounted the courser and advanced to the altar, letting his fingers slide over the cool surface of the stone as tears gathered in his eyes. Arthur knew this place meant a lot to druid practitioners, but seeing Odhran's reaction shocked him for a moment, displaying before the prince just how much significance this 'pile of rocks' held. Arthur pulled a face as his father's words surfaced in his mind. They seemed entirely unworthy. A description made by a man who could not begin to understand what happened in a place such as this.

As Arthur turned his brow drew together in confusion. The entrance was more destroyed than he had originally thought it to be. The pillars creating the entrance were cracked and split, the stone that lay over the top seemed to have disappeared entirely. 

How had he not seen that?

The prince shook off the confusion as he approached the back of the carriage not wanting to show his unsteadiness to the woman who still held that damned dagger to Merlin's throat.  
He forced emotionlessness onto his features as he pulled back the fabric, not wanting to give Sybil the confirmation that she was getting to him.

"We're here." He all but spat the words to the woman.  
Her chest moved down in a relieved exhale before she thanked the prince, apologizing for her actions once again with nothing but her eyes shifting between the boy at her mercy and him. She then turned to Gaius, telling the man to walk towards the alcove where one of her men would await him. The old man nodded stiffly glancing to Merlin once more before picking up his satchel and climbing out of the carriage. 

Arthur took his place by Merlin's side assuring that Sybil would keep her word of not harming the young warlock. The prince glared daggers at the woman's hand as she kept her fingers firmly wrapped around the grip of the blade, refusing to address Sybil herself.

"I do not take pleasure in threatening this sorcerer's life, Arthur Pendragon." She said after a long and tense silence filled the air between them.  
"You're beginning to sound like my father." The prince said coldly, adding the woman's false name as an extra blow. He knew better than to threaten a person who held a knife to someone's throat but that didn't mean he had to hold his tongue entirely.

The woman was taken aback by the comment, obviously not having expected or appreciated the comparison. She decided to hold back any words she wanted to say. She understood the prince's distrust. She would act just like this if she were in his shoes. But being compared to a tyrannical king known for caring about none but himself cut her deeply.  
She only ever did what she had to do to take care of her people. 

She had rushed to the children's side as she was first told of the disease spreading among them. At first, some of them had complained about sleepiness and headaches as well as the odd runny nose or cough. Sybil had dismissed these at first, hoping it would only be a cold. It wasn't entirely uncommon as fall turned into winter but those symptoms soon transformed into aches all over the body and sore red eyes that leaked tears along with a fever that simply kept rising no matter what they did. 

The more that grew ill, the greater Sybil's fear became. Many of the young children among the group came down with similar symptoms, but still, she held out hope that the fevers would pass and the children would recover.  
Then, however, she spotted the discolouration in their mouths. Flicks of white began to appear on the inside of their cheeks and about a day later red spots covered their faces before moving on to the rest of their little bodies. She had to do something but she had no-one to turn to.

Then, as luck would have it, she received word that none other than Arthur Pendragon had made a daring escape, breaking a convicted sorcerer out of the dungeons. Word that the young prince was travelling close to their territory, with Camelot's court physician in tow.  
She had acted quickly, informing those who needed to know of the true plan and putting everything into motion.

Sybil knew the prince wouldn't willingly go through her territory of the woods, but she also knew that the path he was currently on was not large enough to pass through with the size carriage they travelled. So she simply waited at the last possible point of return for the prince. The plan had been a success. Everyone was in the correct position at the right time, surrounding the small group in mere seconds. It had been near-perfectly executed. But she knew the prince was smarter than most gave him credit for. She knew he would have to force his hand if she wanted to keep him an ally, and so she did.

“You must understand, your highness. I could not hope to trust you without some kind of assurance” Sybil explained  
Arthur sighed in resignation.  
"I understand why you did it. But that doesn't mean I have to like it. "  
"Would you have trusted me if it were the other way around?" Sybil asked the prince in return. The blonde shook his head wordlessly, letting a few moments of silence hang between them.

Arthur scoffs humourlessly, finally finding the words he wants to say.  
“I just wish you had chosen to threaten me instead of Merlin. Gods know I deserve it a hell of a lot more than he does.” Sybil smiles knowingly at the young prince.  
“As if you’d have listened to a threat on your life.” She remarks knowing that if she had pointed her blade at The prince himself he would have struck her down before she could finish her sentence. 

Arthur wanted to speak on it further but his attention shifted elsewhere; The young warlock shifted his body slightly and Sybil quickly moved her blade away again, keeping it close by still but no longer pressing it against the boy's skin.  
Merlin's eyes opened slowly, his gaze automatically falling to his right to spot Arthur.  
The sorcerer's eyes displayed a soft smile as he spoke the prince's name. 

"I'm here, Merlin. Right here." Arthur reassures him softly, mindful not to speak too loudly.  
The warlock was drowsy and sure to have taken a good few hits to the head and the prince knew all too well that those made for a pounding headache. 

Sybil watches as the wounded boy lifts his wrist with some effort, never taking his eyes away from the young man before him. Arthur reaches out, swiftly taking Merlin's hand in his own in a gesture of comfort. It clearly worked if the long-stretched, contented sigh coming from the warlock was anything to go by. 

Merlin’s eyes slipped shut again, but he was definitely present. The boy quietly rambled on about nonsensical things at a slow pace, showcasing the effort it took him to speak at all but he didn’t want to stop talking. Arthur was sure the words made sense in the warlock’s mind but to his ears, it merely sounded like a poorly reconstructed dream as recounted by a toddler. That, however, didn’t mean the prince was about to stop Merlin from speaking.  
Sadly, the sorcerer was soon forced to cease the action as his voice got caught in the dryness of his throat, his coughing prompting Arthur to reach for the waterskin at his side to offer a drink. The prince also offered it to the woman on the other side of the carriage, albeit somewhat reluctantly, but she declined politely.

“Don’t you start choking on air now.” Arthur said in false exasperation as he turned his attention back to his friend.  
“Who’ll take care of the dogs if you die? Huh?” He spoke easily to the sorcerer, sharing something that only the two of them understood. The prince could care less if Sybil heard, he simply continued addressing Merlin about all the tasks they had already discussed so many times before. Everything he would be doing once they escaped to some random bit of farm.  
It was a nice fantasy to think about and it brought a dreamy smile to Merlin’s face. 

“Your sighthound,” Merlin mumbled, “and a wolfhound, Lexus.”  
Arthur chuckled at this, shaking his head in amusement. Of course, Merlin already picked a name for a dog they didn’t even own yet.

“Yes,” Arthur confirmed.  
“And I won’t be looking after those two big beasts all by myself so don’t you bail on me now.”  
The sorcerer seems to be lost in his thoughts for a moment so Arthur decides to continue his ‘lecture’ to the boy.  
“I mean, they’d drag you off like a twig if you tried to hold them back but they need someone to keep their kennels clean, don’t they?”  
Merlin’s smile grows wider at the prince’s joking demeanour as he cracks his eyes open to look at Arthur.  
“I won’t leave. Promise.”  
“Yeah, you better not.” The prince immediately pushes on, feigning obliviousness to the sincerity of the warlock’s words. Merlin promised him, time and time again, that he would always be by Arthur’s side and the prince believed those words with everything he had. 

At this Merlin let his head fall to the side, trusting Arthur to ensure his safety as his hazy mind drifts away once more. ‘Someday, we’ll run off to a farm.’ Arthur had said, and they had been adding to that plan for years now. Whenever the councils became too boring or the prince became uncomfortable during feasts. When the fire began to die out during one of their trips and they both laid looking up at the stars. When Uther had a particularly bad day or when the mere idea of being the prince of Camelot was simply too much to bear they would escape into their daydreams, if only for a few moments.

Sybil was struck silent as she watched the scene before her, reminding her of the man she once loved. She still felt the same warmth spread through her chest as she remembered his features, his loving promises and his fierce loyalty. Alerion’s father had taken her into his family after she was caught trying to steal from their provisions. Sybil remembers his tales of how she’d been terrified of the big, burly man looming over her and how she allegedly wailed in fright as he picked her up from where she had hidden. That man had given her a chance and years later Alerion himself took a chance on her as well. They became inseparable. That is until Camelot’s king decided that being slaughtered in an ambush was an appropriate fate to bestow upon them. The punishment did not fit the crime. 

She hadn’t been able to save Alerion. In truth it was he who had saved her, sacrificing himself to the king’s men and paying with his very life. Sybil felt the pricking of cruel tears behind her eyes, memories of heartache and sadness surfacing in her mind. She swallowed them down and putting on her brave mask.  
She’d worn it since the day Alerion was ripped away from her and she wasn’t about to drop it now. She would protect the children in her family as her lover’s father had protected her, as Alerion had protected his own sons. 

The prince never took his eyes away from Merlin’s form, aside from the occasional glance to the dagger that laid by Sybil’s side, just to make sure it was still there. As long as he knew it laid on the floor of the carriage, he knew it wasn’t being used to draw the warlock’s blood from his body. Once again images appeared before him. Morgana laid on the forest floor with Merlin hovering over her. The warlock’s trembling hands were fumbling desperately with the plate armour covering the lady’s abdomen, trying to remove it so he could reach where Arthur presumed the blood was coming from. The prince watched with breath trapped in his lungs as a rider bearing the crest of Camelot approached from behind on a stark white horse, wielding a war hammer.  
He could feel, rather than hear, himself screaming as the knight aimed the weapon towards his victim. Merlin looked up to the prince, his eyes finding Arthur’s. The young Pendragon felt his breath escaping him as Merlin turned to face the knight, trying to shield himself with his arms as the metal was brought down with devastating force.

Arthur returned to his body with a slight gasp, blinking furiously as he tried to shake the shock from his body. He caught Sybil glancing to him in what he almost thought to be worry.  
It must be this place. Of course, what else could he expect? He found himself standing in an ancient druid circle. Magic was powerful here, sure to influence anyone who stepped foot inside. Yes, that must be it. 

The prince forced the last remaining flashes from his memory. How could his own mind be so cruel to conjure up these… these horrid things.  
He was brought out of his thought as Odhran appeared at the back of the carriage. He claimed Gaius sent him to get some supplies.  
“Rosemary and chamomile.”

Arthur quickly shuffled around looking between the boxes. He knew what these plants looked like but he hadn’t the slightest where Gaius would be keeping them. They had to be somewhere around here since the physician wouldn’t have asked for them if he wasn’t certain he’d brought them, after all.  
After a few more moments of searching Merlin’s hand pulled free from his own, pointing to a wooden crate hidden under bundles of dandelions. 

“Fresh ones ‘r there,” The warlock explained,  
“dried over there.” Merlin continued as he pointed to a satchel.

Odhran thanked the boy quickly before grabbing the satchel and disappearing from view.  
Sybil fought the urge to go after the man as his footsteps faded, suppressing her growing need to know what was happening. The prince regarded Sybil with an unreadable expression, wondering how it was at all possible that the woman before him was the same woman who threatened to shove a dagger through Merlin’s throat. Her features were contorted with worry, her posture and pride long forgotten as her body itched to go to her people. Arthur realised with some dismay that she was a leader, a protector and a mother.

“You can go after him. No need to stay here, we’re not going anywhere.”  
Arthur saw the woman’s hesitation and urged her further telling her he wouldn’t leave Gaius and Odhran behind.  
“There’s no point in you staying here when you could be there with them.”  
After a moment more she finally gave in. Gathering herself up and stepping over Merlin’s legs carefully to make her way to the back end of the carriage.

“You know, you still haven’t told me your real name.” The prince said as the woman stepped down. She turned to him as she put away her dagger in its sheath. Smiling gently at the understanding existing between the two.  
“And I never will, your highness.” 

Arthur chuckled at the woman’s courtesy bow. She too soon disappeared from his eyes. The prince listened as her footsteps resounded through the air. She was running.  
Arthur’s attention returned to the sorcerer, who was actively seeking to return the prince’s hand to his own.  
Merlin gave a sigh as he finally succeeded and Arthur couldn’t help but doze off along with him.

This place had brought him horrific scenes of things he’d rather never think of, but it somehow managed to instil a feeling of safety and peacefulness. And so Arthur leaned his head back, the warmth of Merlin’s hand soothing his heartbeat and quieting his worrying mind. Perhaps, once they made it to the druid camp, everything would be alright.


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur opened his eyes, staring up at the light fabric covering the skeleton of the carriage as it billowed lightly.  
The prince shot awake, startling Merlin who mumbled incoherently in annoyance before moving his face away. Arthur quickly got to his feet and pushed the flap of fabric away.  
Sanity returned in his mind as he saw Gaius sitting on the bench, holding the reins.   
The old man looked back to the unexpected movement, congratulating Arthur on re-joining him in the land of the living. Arthur chuckled and rubbed his sleep-filled eyes, his heartbeat slowing back down as he yawned.

“I figured you could use some rest.”  
Arthur thanked the man, taking a sip from his waterskin as Odhran called back that they should be arriving soon. He must have slept a good few hours if they were nearly at the druid camp already. Arthur surmised Odhran would be pleased seeing as the sky was still bright.

“Arthur, would you take over? I must check on Merlin before we arrive.” The physician requests. Arthur nods wordlessly, taking the leather reins as Gaius stands to climb down into the carriage once more. The prince listens in as Gaius greets Merlin, seemingly finding something positive as he gathers from the mere sound of the man’s voice.  
Arthur smiles to himself. He doesn’t mind the hours he lost, his head seems to have returned to its full function after the little sleep he’d gotten in the past few days. Plus he can hardly remember the last time he slept as well as he did, which was strange seeing as he was used to sleeping in a big bed, not a wooden plank with his head lulling off to the side.

As Arthur’s eyes shifted to Odhran once again he was suddenly hit with the realisation that he hadn’t the slightest clue what was going to happen when they arrived. This healing ritual would be taking place mere hours from now and Arthur couldn’t even begin to envision it.  
His mind returned to the druid circle, the altar, where the young man...   
Gods, It was even worse remembering the scene.

“Are you alright, your highness?”

Arthur’s reaction was delayed by the twisting of his mind, promising him that saving Merlin’s life would demand that another be sacrificed to take his place.  
The scene appeared before him again: The intricate dagger was lifted into the air as the chanting grew stronger all around. Then, the knife was brought down with enough force to sink deep into his chest. The blade pierced his heart as Arthur’s own body laid unmoving on the broken stone table. He waited for the pain to hit him but there was none. He only felt a soothing warmth wrap around him as he cast his eyes down, watching his blood drip from the cracked stone into a goblet.  
Then a small bird, a Wren, flew down and landed on his chest, chirping happily. The tiny bird picked at Arthur’s wound, its small beak coated dark red and somehow getting to his very heart.

“Sire!” Odhran’s shocked voice brought Arthur back to reality with a snap.   
“I’m fine.” The prince dismissed. But the druid leader did not break his eyes away from the young man, perhaps attempting to look right through his skull and into his thoughts.

“Gaius, tell me about what happened while I was uhm, you know,” Arthur said after clearing his throat of the uncomfortableness of Odhran’s gaze.

“Sire?” Gaius asked, unsure of what the prince was asking.  
“The sick people.” Arthur clarified quickly as he finally managed to drag his mind away from what he had seen.  
“What was wrong with them?”

The physician asked for a moment longer before he turned to the young prince explaining that he wasn’t entirely sure what. He’d seen similar diseases but the smallpox he remembered from his early days was far more deadly than this. In fact, the rash seemed to disappear mostly by itself.

“Smallpox gives the patient raised irregular spots starting around the chest area. It can turn into pussy blisters and leaves its survivors with scars, but now…” The physician trailed off for a moment thinking of the right words to use.  
“The starting symptoms seem to be the same; headache, backache, fever or chills, loss of appetite or vomiting. But some children had white spots in their mouths as well as a rash that seemed to start on their faces before spreading further. This one seems to be less itchy and the rash is nearly completely flat.” Gaius explained.   
Arthur looked back at the man, a bit dumbstruck by how easily he recounted cases of ‘his years as an apprentice’.

“In fact, the rash seems to be entirely a secondary problem. I was much more worried about the fever. What was odd is that it only seemed to spread among young children, the adults appeared to be entirely immune to the disease.”

Arthur blinked back at the man, nodding as he pretended to know what the hell he as talking about. The prince knew he was doing a bad job at it seeing as medicine and healing weren’t his forte, so he quickly changed the focus to what remedy Gaius had come up with.  
“I’m assuming you told them a few good things, considering we’re all still in one piece.”

“Oh, I merely prescribed a chamomile tea to ease the headaches and ointments of rosemary and yarrow for the rash. As I said, the fever is what worried me so I recommended the children drink lots of fluid and be wrapped in a blanket soaked in lukewarm water once a day.” Gaius explained simply, not believing Arthur to really be listening.

Arthur frowned at that. “Why lukewarm?”  
He waited a moment before realising he would have to elaborate on his question.  
“If the aim is to cool them down why use lukewarm water and not cold?”

Gaius’ expression shifted to something between surprise and pride. It seems the prince had truly been listening to his words instead of simply wanting the physician to ease the obviously uncomfortable silence between Arthur and the druid.  
“Because lowering the body temperature too drastically can have an adverse effect. It could cause several inconveniences to the patient not to mention that it would be highly unpleasant if not downright painful to experience. Fevers aren’t completely lethal, how one treats them can have a significant impact on the patient’s health, for better or for worse.”

Arthur nodded in understanding. Thinking over the physician's words and finding that it did make sense now that he had explained it. His brows drew together as he remembered something Merlin had gone on about for hours, Arthur would’ve called it a tirade if he didn’t know any better.

“And what about the humours?”  
Gaius looked downright impressed at this and Arthur was absolutely certain he had heard the young sorcerer scoff in amusement.  
“What? Merlin mentioned them a few times.” The prince defended.

“Treatment by the humours is a well-known technique among physicians. It relies on the principle that there are four main fluids in the body that must be kept in balance.”  
“Right,” The prince nodded “they’re blood, yellow and black bile and something else, a weird thing… Plegum?” Arthur practically begged the confirmation from the physician.  
“Phlegm.” Gaius corrected, still questioning whether he had underestimated the boy before.

“Yes, that!” Arthur exclaimed, recognising the term and remembering how Merlin had all but spat the word every time he’d used it. His servant was obviously not a fan, and neither was the prince himself if he were completely honest. The word seemed to hold this nasty undertone equating it to the sound you make when coughing up a particularly stubborn slime in your throat. Arthur’s mouth pulled down in disgust at the thought.  
“It is an old practice that many use but I personally regard it as a last resort. I’ve found there are more causes for sickness than ‘imbalanced fluids in the body’. Though the practice does hold some advantages, I must admit.” Gaius look down to Merlin, who seems to be trying to protest against Gaius statement.

“You wrong!” the warlock slurs angrily.   
“Is all wrong, make’ no sense.” Merlin all but whined.  
“Why would? Why would level ‘o flem matter? Is disgusting.”  
Arthur turned away as Merlin continued to rant about his hate for Phlegm in the best sentences he could construct. There were words missing and some slurred together so much they became near unrecognisable, but Arthur found himself reminiscing to such a time where Merlin paced about his chambers with that same tirade spilling from his lips.  
The boy’s arms moved about as he explained to himself every reason of why the humour system was complete and utter horse dung while also disproving himself in the next breath before refuting that point once again.

“Did Sybil cause any more trouble?” The question had been directed at the physician but he was busy trying to calm the young sorcerer down to make sure not wounds reopened. Odhran quickly took the chance to answer, allowing Gaius the freedom to return to Merlin’s side.  
“No, sire. After your physician explained the treatment she offered to escort us to the edge of her territory but I assured her that we would be able to find our way back.”   
Arthur held back a mocking laugh at this. She couldn’t truly have expected they would accept the gesture after she held a knife to their friend’s throat. He supposes it could have been a sign of good faith, but, truth be told, he didn’t have all that much faith in the woman.

“Just to the left here, behind those trees. You’ll have to leave the carriage on the edge of the camp.” Odhran explained.  
Arthur felt a rush of panic return, glancing back before taking a deep breath as he followed the druid’s instructions. He couldn’t back out now, he would have to face whatever came his way.

As Arthur guided the carriage through the trees he noticed the symbols, made of plants and twigs, strung up and hanging from the branches. he soon recognised the square he’d seen the druid women making earlier that morning, among other things. It seemed innocent enough and Arthur wouldn’t have been so on edge if it weren’t for the singing of a Wern bird somewhere between the branches. The prince swallowed thickly at the sight of flames through the treeline, a great fire laid just right of the camp, close by a spring of water.

He heard the crackling of the bonfire, the running of the water, the sound of people talking and somewhere in between he could hear Morgana and Guinevere laughing amongst each other. The last sound suddenly disappeared and Arthur instinctively slid his eyes around the camp to find his friends. Once he did he stopped the carriage and jumped down from the bench smiling like an idiot as his friend’s greeted him with a hug.

“Arthur!” Guinevere had called out in relief.  
Morgana on the other hand wasn’t as happy to see him. “Where in the hell have you been? We’ve been worried sick, Arthur Pendragon. You should have arrived hours ago!”  
The prince shook his head and rolled his eyes as he pulled the dark-haired woman into an embrace.  
“It’s good to see you too Morgana.”  
And despite the ‘rage’ in her voice just a moment ago Morgana didn’t waste half a second wrapping her arms around the prince’s body. Clearly, she hadn’t been lying when she said they’d been worried.  
“We ran into some trouble, as per usual.” He explained, wincing slightly at the pressure the girl was putting on his wound. Her questions were already falling from her lips but Arthur cut her off without much thought.  
“I’ll explain everything later, Morgana. I really need to ask Odhran a few things first. Don’t worry, I won’t be long.”  
The prince was stopped one more time as Gwen demanded a hug as well before walking deeper into the camp, ignoring the itching in his body to turn around and wait it out in the carriage, by his friend’s side.

“Odhran, might I have a word?” The prince asked perhaps a bit more formal than what was strictly necessary after the day they’d had. Odhran merely nodded, quickly ending his conversation with one of the clan’s men. Arthur frowned lightly as he watched the druid leader point to the carriage while whispering something to the man before him. The prince’s entire body was on edge as the unknown man approached the carriage. He was ready. His hand ‘rested’ on the hilt of his sword and his legs prepared to propel him forward. But before the man reached the carriage Gaius already opened the cover, handing over a few bundles of dandelions. Arthur felt like a child, frightened of nothing more than shadows as the noises from the people around the camp filtered back in.

He noticed Lisarel sitting in a circle with a few other druid girls that looked about her age. She was smiling brightly, gesturing with her hands as they all laughed at whatever she was telling them. Gods, had he ever been that young? Or was it a girl thing? The prince almost chuckles as the young girl pulls a face causing the others to burst out laughing.

“Yes, sire?” Odhran pushed, pulling the prince’s attention back to the questions he wanted to ask.  
“My apologies, I seem to be distracted.” The druid smiled at him, shaking his head and closing his eyes briefly as if to say it wasn’t a problem.   
“I wanted to ask you, Odhran,” Arthur trailed off for a moment, not sure how to ask his question. He eventually settled for the simplest solution: “What’s going to happen tonight?”

Odhran smiled knowingly at the young prince standing by his side, guiding him in between the trees around the camp and towards a spring.  
“There will be a feast in Brighid’s honour, we will ask for her help in healing Emrys’ wounds.” Arthur blinked at the man’s words, forcing his legs to keep going even though the muscles in his back went rigid. The name sent a shiver running across his spine and he had to suppress the twitching of his neck. 

“The goddess?” Arthur asked almost fearfully, his voice tight in his throat. The words had spilt from his lips without thinking. He couldn’t stop them but some part of him knew he was right with or without hearing Odhran’s confirming hum. 

“You were taught about the gods?” the man asked with a somewhat surprised tone, not expecting the prince of Camelot to be well versed on the legends and stories of the old religion, the very thing the boy’s father was trying to eradicate from the world.  
Arthur frowned again at Odhran’s question. He hadn’t. His father would have never allowed it. The only thing he really had any notion of were the holidays since his father always organised great feasts on those days.   
Gaius had told him about the sabbaths of the old religion and how his father was trying to keep those who still practised the old religion on his side. After all, not everyone who was a druid had magic in their blood.

Gaius spoke to him, during some fever-ridden night where he had barely been awake at all, either to ease the prince’s mind or quench his own worries with the gentle droning of his voice. He had heard the tales so clearly, the man might as well have been whispering them in his ears. Arthur envisioned the festivals, similarities and differences arising before his mind as he was taken throughout the seasons. Arthur hadn’t been able to so much as open his eyes that night so Gaius likely thought he hadn’t heard, but the words the old physician spoke rang in his ears like a soothing breeze on a hot night. The man spoke of the great feast of Samhain and how the souls of loved ones and ancestors were free, only on that night, to walk among us once again. Gaius spoke of Yule, the winter solstice, and how it was the longest night before the sun returned. He told of Imbolc and Ostara, Beltane, Litha, Lughnasadh and Mabon, explaining the traditions and what they stood for until the sky lost its darkness and the prince’s fever had eased off in promise of recovery.

Odhran waited patiently for a confused-looking Arthur to reply.  
“uhm, no,” He hesitated, “I don’t think so.”

Odhran scoffed and chuckled a bit, wondering if the prince was telling the truth.  
“I would think your father would have forbidden the teachings of the old religion.”  
“No, yes, he did. It’s just…” Arthur hesitated yet again. He wanted to give an explanation to the man, feeling like he owed Odhran one, but he simply couldn’t give it to him.  
“I don’t know. I don’t know how I know this.”

Odhran remained silent for a moment, looking pensively back the prince before turning away and continuing through the trees.   
“Not to worry, sire. I’m sure tonight will make many things clear to both Emrys and you.”  
Arthur follows behind the man, not entirely sure what to think.   
He then spots another stone structure. It looks quite similar to the Altar from the druid circle, with four smaller rocks surrounding it. 

Odhran turns once more, facing the prince, causing Arthur to stop in his tracks. He stares up at the man silently, almost certain he heard the wind whisper something in his ears.  
Odhran places his large hand on the side of the prince’s neck. Arthur doesn’t flinch away at the touch, none of the usual silent worries coursing through his head. Instead of panic at how he could easily be strangled, there is a sort of trust, making his heart beat just slightly stronger. 

“Your father is not here, Arthur,” Odhran speaks encouragingly as the prince looks back into the man’s gaze. Some sort of excitement mixed with the fear of being caught, like a child sneaking around to complete a ridiculous dare, along with a twinge of peacefulness makes its way through Arthur’s chest. He felt, suddenly, like he was breathing for the first time.   
Still, he was unsure what to make of Odhran’s next words.

“There is no need to hide it, anymore.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's bad news and good news.  
> bad news: my laptop's motherboard has to be replaced and it'll take a while before it's fixed.  
> good news: I have all my files safe and sound so I can continue writing!  
> More updates coming soon cause I've left you (and myself) waiting for far too long with this story.

Arthur held back some kind of grunt-ish growl. He was more confused than ever and it was pissing him off. He had always been taught to stay in control of things, or pretend to be when you weren’t. But he couldn’t pretend to know what was going on, he couldn’t pretend to be in control because, frankly, he wasn’t and it was infuriating beyond belief.  
He wanted to yell, feeling the pressure of a screaming tirade building up in his throat. He wanted to kick and hit and slash and break and… Arthur hesitated. No.  
That’s not what he wanted.

There was no real anger to be felt. No furiousness or wrathful hate at the world. He didn’t know exactly what it was that was turning in his chest. It wasn’t the same helpless rage he’d felt as he sat waiting on the day of Merlin’s execution. On the one hand, it was a warm numbness that had him zoning in and out of reality. On the other hand, it was a bone-chilling fear that stretched its icy claws out to tear at his soul. On another hand, there was hazy darkness creeping ever closer to him. He felt trapped, surrounded. He had nowhere to go and the thick black mist that none other could see hovered just above his skin. He could feel its presence floating almost tauntingly around his form. And on yet another hand he just felt lost.

Lost like a child on the Tuesday market in the lower town. The bustling noises and people all around, clouding his senses and his mind while his heart raced in panic as a freezing sensation crawled up his throat. He didn’t know what was happening while everyone else seemed to move without ever needing a second to think about what they were doing. He was nailed to the ground in uncertainty as the others walked with easy strides and purpose in their movements. They knew exactly what was going on, and Arthur didn’t. But he couldn’t afford to ask them. 

And just like that, he returned to his childhood years. Standing in the middle of that market as people shoved past him, not paying him any mind. His little heart was pounding excessively. He’d walked these streets with ease just a few days ago with his father. But they seemed an entirely different realm. The bright sun shone down on him, blinding him whenever he dared to peek out in front of him. People were shouting about wanting to buy or sell or trade. There were animals all around making noise. The smell also didn’t help. It was the same as any other day but it bothered him tremendously and he wished he could have extra arms to cover his eyes, and nose, and ears and mouth. He still tasted the stale sourness of skipped breakfast on his tongue and now he was close to tears. It was too loud, too bright, too smelly, too sour, too annoying, too painful. It was… it was too much.  
He stood there in the middle of the street for entirely too long before shoving and running through the moving mass of people to stand by the side. 

The shade that was offered helped a bit but he still felt the panic in his body rising. He felt as though he should be running or fighting back but he knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything because there simply wasn’t anything there to run from. There was nothing to fight. Nothing to be afraid of and yet here he was, desperately trying to calm his own breathing after standing in the middle of the street like a complete moron for gods know how long. 

He had turned to the woman selling fruit at the stand, his own breath wheezing in his ears. She was a rather heavy-set lady and she had wonky teeth but Arthur didn’t dare go to the street again to approach someone. It was too much. The lady had not so kindly told the young prince the general direction he should be headed before nonchalantly motioning her hand to show that she wouldn’t bother replying to him again and so his little feet had set him off, determined to win. It didn’t take long for Arthur to become utterly lost once more -why did the market seem so much larger all of a sudden?- he could feel small tears prickling in his eyes and his tiny hands wiped furiously, not allowing them to fall. Arthur continued to stumble about the market, tugging on people’s sleeves and asking them what he should do, though he didn’t know how to tell them what it was that he had to do. Many became annoyed and walked away or they simply ignored him entirely. 

In the end, it didn’t take long for a knight to find him amidst the mass of people. But it felt like an eternity as he had to walk back to the citadel. As he entered the courtyard, the shame and fear kicked in once more, only rising as he followed the knight into the throne room. Uther sat on his throne and Arthur came running up to him even after noticing the man’s displeased scowl, hoping he could bribe the man into a more pleasant mood by rambling. He’d told his father about what happened and about the nice young man who’d talked to him for a bit. But the prince fell silent as his father’s booming voice demanded to be left alone with his son. It hadn’t been the first lesson his father had taught him and it hadn’t been the last. But for some reason, this one stuck with him more than some of the other ones. He’d been well and truly frightened without seeing a real reason and his father had seen him as weak. Arthur never forgot his father’s lessons, they were quite hard to forget after all, and Uther had made sure to remind his son of them plenty of times after.  
Arthur grimaced, wincing slightly as old scars and long-since faded bruises seemed to start itching once again, remembering the lessons that had come along with them.  
‘Don’t show fear’, ‘don’t be fooled’, ‘don’t make a fool of yourself.’, ‘don’t be weak’, ‘don’t trust too easily’, ‘don’t waste time’, ‘don’t be stupid’, 'always be courteous', 'honor the knight's code', 'don't be too loud', 'Make them hear you'.

Some lessons had been repeatedly taught through the years, in several ways. Arthur’s hand unconsciously traveled up to rub at the scar on the side of his bicep as reality slowly came back into focus.  
People still walked all about and around him, as he stood numbly and stupidly in the middle of the camp. Like an absolute idiot. 

He could feel the familiar sensation rising in his chest. Tightening his muscles and constricting his throat. He became more aware of his breathing and quickly, but appearing calm, walked towards a tree so he could at least have the sensation that he wasn’t standing there in the center with everyone looking at him as if he were some kind of dumb kid. The prince clenched his teeth together and closed his eyes for a moment, reaching out to touch the bark of the tree as his brows drew together in concentration.  
He closed his hand into a fist, pushing it against the hard uneven surface and forcing what little air he could in through his nose before shallowly breathing out for as long as he could manage, purposefully clenching the muscles in his stomach to keep from hunching over or letting the air escape too quickly.  
-Don’t give in- he reminded himself, his own mind’s voice sounding strangely far from his own but familiar like someone else had told him this before and their voice simply replaced the one existing in his own mind. Arthur pushed his knuckles tighter against the bark; he wouldn’t resort to hitting it. He’d made that mistake once before, after all.

He’d punched his hands bloody during a hunt, trying to make the rising panic disappear, before being dragged off back to Camelot. Unfortunately, they were a two-day’s ride away from the city and it had become apparent quite quickly that his hands were headed for severe infection. He refused to have any of the knights look at this hands, merely wrapping a few pieces of cloth around the knuckles and gritting his teeth. He had fought off the urge to sleep, shivering and hot, until he all but collapsed after walking to Gaius’ quarters with a straight back and his head held high. 

The man had dug a knife between the prince’s knuckles as two knights held down his arm to keep it still, letting puss run down his fingers and squeezing it out until only clean blood appeared. The physician’s apprentice had paled, cussed, and ran, only to vomit just outside the door anyway. Gaius had told him again and again that Arthur’s refusal to have the wounds treated during the hunt, even simply with water, might result in loss of his fingers or even his entire hand, and even if that wasn't the case his hands would never heal completely. But then, they did. Now that the prince knows what he knows, he realizes magic must have been involved in the healing. 

Merlin had been pissed at him for nearly two weeks after that incident. Not that Arthur could blame him. It was Merlin’s first time seeing Gaius cure severely infected wounds and honestly, the prince himself had to hold back the bile in his throat. His respect for Gaius had grown immensely that day, even if he seemed to like the man less after the pain the physician had brought him. Of course, Arthur knew the physician had only done what was necessary in order to heal him. Just as Merlin had tried slapping him, once, to stop his shallowing breath. Arthur’s mind continued to think of the sorcerer’s methods of helping him control these bursts of panic that seemed to come up exactly when there was absolutely nothing to be panicked or frightened about. Arthur hated those moments. Merlin seemed to catch onto them even before he himself noticed it and he despised the pitying looks the boy would give him, rushing forward to drag him off and coddle him as if he were a small child frightened of shadows. His own head sneered at him at the thought.

The prince opened his mind, staring up at the leaves above him. Merlin had always taught him to be better. ‘Count the leaves’ he had said, leaving Arthur confused in his dazed state.  
‘I can’t help you unless I know the exact amount of leaves on the second-lowest branch of this tree, so count, Arthur.’ It hadn’t been a suggestion. It was an order and Arthur didn’t question it, his eyes searching for the second-lowest branch on the tree before him.  
And just as it had all that time ago, his breathing slowed as he focused on even finding the correct branch to count.  
Slowly but surely Arthur came back to his own mind. By now, he had counted barely 42 leaves on the branch he had picked out. Then a hand on his shoulder snapped him back entirely. The prince spun to come face to face with Morgana whose quietly worried eyes searched his for an explanation.

“Arthur?” The woman looked at him with those same pitying eyes Merlin always does whenever this happens. Arthur quickly shoves aside his annoyance at Morgana and his own shameful behavior, picking up her hand and moving it from the tense muscles of his shoulder.  
“I’m fine, Morgana.” The prince states plainly. He knows he isn’t being entirely fair to the king’s ward. After all, he knew she suffered from her nightmares as well, perhaps she could understand the unseen terrors that plagued him in broad daylight by knowing her own terror-filled visions of the night. Morgana once again reached out for the prince’s shoulder, stopping him from walking away from her even though he could easily shove her off again.

“Promise?” she asked solemnly.  
“I am now.” Arthur smiles gently at her, knowing the girl’s intentions aren’t to belittle him. 

If that were the case she would have done so years ago. But she seemed reluctant to even bring it up outside of the few solitary occasions on which she had seen him bolting for the door. Now she followed behind the prince in a comfortable silence somehow forcing him to share this burden with her without ever meaning to do so. She had her own battles to fight and the prince was well aware that Morgana shared those with Guinevere only. 

On the way back to Merlin the prince noticed that Lisarel had abandoned her storytelling in favor of hunching over in concentration as her fingers worked the delicate stems of dandelions, twisting them into large circles and strings with inexperienced hands. Her rather wonky-looking dandelion crown was an amusing sight but she placed it upon her head proudly anyway only for it to slip down and drop to her chest. The girl smiled sheepishly at the women around her as they tried to stifle giggles, obviously already becoming fond of the new girl. It was an effect Lisa seemed to have on many people. Her bright eyes and sweet smile simply drew them to her and she seemed to have a genuinely kind soul, filled with the joy that far too many people missed in their lives. Perhaps that was why people liked the girl so much. her carelessness allowed you to escape, if only for a little while. 

He spotted Guinevere in one of the open huts in the distance. She seemed to be helping out as well, carrying rather small buckets of milk in her hands.  
Arthur decided not to pay too much mind to what the other druid people were doing except for those who ventured too close to the carriage for the prince’s liking. He didn’t mind the children playing around the horses, though someone should tell them not to bother them too much. But for the most part, people seemed to be singing in rhymes and dancing around the bonfire, preparing or enjoying food, crafting more of those squares and dolls, and just generally going about their business without much thought for the strangers in their midst. In fact, Morgana, Lisarel, Guinevere, and Gaius seemed to blend in with them almost immediately and if Merlin had been able to walk about Arthur was sure he would feel quite at home here. He’d always seemed more relaxed when they ventured out in the woods rather than being cooped up in the citadel. The only one who seemed truly odd in this place, he realized, was him. 

Not only did he stand out because of his armor and mail that reflected the sun’s light from what little was exposed through the cloak he still carried, he just felt out of place. Like an invader in these people’s homes. He may be their guest but he felt like he was taking and taking from these people without ever giving anything in return. The prince wasn’t sure why exactly he felt this way, after all, it wasn’t like he trusted Odhran and the druids at this point. But there was a possibility for it and that was a dangerous foot in the door. 

‘Don’t trust too easily.’ The lesson rang in the back of his mind as a long thin scar on the small of his back seems to come alive again. Arthur grits his teeth to ground himself anew, continuing his path straight for the carriage with Morgana still following behind him.  
He ignored the woman’s rather frustrated huff behind him, almost making it to the carriage. 

“Arthur.” She sounded sad.

The prince’s movement slowed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He didn’t want to talk about anything right now. He wanted to sit and wait in the carriage, ready for anything, but most importantly; by his friend's side. It was always him and Merlin against the world. That would never change.

“Arthur!” Morgana yells warningly, throat much tighter now.  
The prince's muscles tighten again. His head held high as Morgana's voice stops him in his tracks. He doesn't look at her as she circles to stand before him. Why can't he just get to Merlin without people stopping him, for once? Why did that simple thing seem almost impossible? He wasn't asking for much. He just wanted to be left alone for a little while and make sure his friend was safe. Why did that suddenly seem so difficult to do? 

As Morgana beckons him to meet her eyes Arthur expects anger, resentment or disgust to be displayed on her features, but when he meets the lady's eyes, at long last, there is only pity.  
The prince isn't sure if he prefers this over anger. Strangely enough, it seemed both better and worse at the same time.

"When will you stop this?" ah, there was the edge of anger.  
"When will you stop being such an- absolute- idiot."

Arthur didn't reply. He simply broke away from her eyes; they were showing more than pity now. It made him rather queasy how many things the girl was showing with just her eyes. He couldn't figure them all out. Should he try? He had tried before and it hadn't helped then. It wouldn't help now.

"Truly, Arthur, you can't be that foolish. You can't be stupid enough to think that you're-" Morgana's voice was cut off by the emotions swirling in her chest. Arthur looked to the woman's feet. Part of him wanted to believe her. But part of him also knew no matter how well Morgana claimed to know him she would never know all of him. He realized she was waiting for a response but he couldn't. His voice was lost entirely. With his tongue glued firmly to the roof of his mouth, his throat tense as the string of longbow and his teeth clamped shut it was physically painful to force the sounds from his mouth. The lady backed down slightly seeing Arthur's eyes searching his own mind for something anything to show that he was at least hearing her and understanding her words. But the tenseness of Arthur's jaw told her he wouldn't find what he searched. So she merely sighed, calming down quickly.

She had seen him, earlier, coming back from talking with Odhran. At first, she approached to ask what had happened to make them arrive at the camp so late, but when she saw Arthur struggling to breathe as he looked up to the tree above him she grew worried.  
His breath had steadied, however, so she called out to him. But when he snapped his head to look at her she knew Arthur was far from okay. Though, stubborn as he was, he would never admit it. Morgana could almost hear the dozens upon dozens of thoughts flying through the man's head. They seemed to be tiring her out already and they weren't even her thoughts. 

She loved Arthur. How could she not? He'd been her best friend for as long as she could remember and she wouldn't trade their time together for all the gold in the world but he'd experienced things that left him a shell of who he once was. Perhaps that was a part of growing up. Neither of them seemed to be whole anymore. She tried to show this to Arthur, that she was just as messed up as him and that they could help each other. But the prince seemed oblivious. With subtlety and patience, she had managed to coax him into opening up just a little bit. Either she tired him out or he slipped up in times of great emotion or weariness and she would gently tug him out just a little further. 

He felt entirely alone. A solitary soul left in the wake of his mind. Just as he'd always been. 

She knew what Uther had 'taught' him. She'd often snuck out of bed to hide behind the tapestry in front of Arthur's room. Two yellow dragons breathing black fire on a Pendragon red background with the edges decorated in yellow and black thread. It was a beautiful piece and it had kept her warm on the nights she'd hid behind it as well as shielded her from the sounds coming from the room in front of her. It was a truly horrible thing to sit through but she wouldn't leave him alone. She flinched every so often at the things she heard but she grit her teeth and made her mind reach out to the young prince. On some nights she could have sworn she felt him reach back but perhaps that was just a child's wishful thinking. 

After a while she became too big to hide behind the tapestry so she had bothered Arthur constantly, saying it was a horrible-looking thing and he should ask for a cupboard instead. 

"So you can use extra blankets" She had smiled, forcing it to be far sweeter than she felt.

It had worked, in the end. Soon after she had bothered her friend and later her guardian about the 'raggedy old tapestry' it was replaced. She felt a little bad since it was actually a very nice-looking thing. She wouldn't have minded hanging it from her own wall, but it didn't matter. Now she would be able to hide in the cupboard to stay close to Arthur on the nights when he needed her. She always knew when such a night would come. Like she could feel it in the air. 

All in all, she'd been happy with her plan even if the cupboard was pitch black darkness over the flicks of light from the hallway torches that snuck behind the tapestry. Even if the small space forced her into strange positions after a while and her legs went numb and even if the winter nights left her struggling to stop her teeth from clattering. She was by Arthur's side when he needed her and that was all that mattered. 

She had been so sure the young prince knew that she was there and that she wouldn't leave him. She hadn't doubted that he knew even for a second. But perhaps she had been wrong.  
Perhaps she should have told him. Could she tell him still? There was a good chance Arthur wouldn't believe her at all, but an even bigger chance that he would storm off angrily spewing something about not needing her pity.  
Gods he was as stubborn as a mule when it came to these things, not that it was his fault.

It had started with the one night of Uther's teachings that she remembered as vividly as if it had happened mere minutes ago. Arthur's lesson had dragged on for hours on end and she had learned the same lesson simply by hearing it. There was a lot to it but in her mind, it had been summarized into two words: Don't feel.  
Morgana doubted Arthur remembered what Uther had done that night, but she did. By sunrise, their fear for Uther had grown tenfold, at least, but where Arthur became his father's little soldier Morgana refused to ever let him win the war. She was master of her mind, not Uther. She dictated her morality, not Uther. She controlled her heart, not that monster of a man. 

But while she fought back against the king's hold vigorously, Arthur couldn't fight it anymore. She saw the real him appear only in glimpses. When his sense of right and wrong was placed opposing his father's wishes and he had to drown it out by acting so quickly that he didn't have time to think. When his father became agitated at anyone and he wanted to stand up for them but shrunk back in apprehension. When his father's cruelty against those who had magic reached far too high and he wanted to curse the man with everything he had but he had nothing left. Uther had broken him.

But then something changed. She hadn't noticed it at first but Arthur seemed to be a little more alive. fragment by fragment the light returned to his eyes. Piece by piece he managed to put himself together. He found comfort the same way that she had. He began fighting back again. She had always wanted to be there for the prince but it seemed she simply hadn't been the right person. The right person, out of all the unlucky bastards in the kingdom, had been Gaius' apprentice. The young, lanky, and frankly strange boy who had, somehow, saved Arthur's life and was made to be his servant. He had brought back the Arthur she once knew, if only for a few moments at a time. She would make sure Merlin knew how grateful she was. The warlock had helped her too, in small ways. 

Morgana stepped to the side, making room for the prince to pass her by.

"I don't pity you, Arthur. You don't need it. But you do need help."  
The lady said firmly. She breathed in, trying to keep her emotions manageable inside her heart.  
"I don't care how much you push against me. We both survived Uther and I am not leaving you alone. Not now, not ever. You hear me?"

Arthur looked back at her, positively torn, so she simply grabbed hold of the prince's waist and pressed herself against him. She could feel him stifling the trembling of his arms.  
"You're my best friend, Arthur. Don't you dare forget that." 

She let go of the prince once more and stepped away, making her way over to where Guinevere was talking to someone before suddenly remembering something she had wanted to say to him. 

"Whatever Odhran told you about tonight, I promise, it's not as bad as you think."  
Arthur frowned at her and she heard him without words.

"I just know," she said somewhat defeatedly.  
With that, Arthur's mind stilled slightly. He turned away and took the last few steps towards the carriage. Morgana's worries melted away as he stepped into the carriage.

-"I'll keep him safe. Promise."-


	11. Chapter 11

The darkness shown through a crack in the fabric said that it was night. But it felt like the same hazy daydream as before. Just, less- bright. The white cloth draped over the carriage did rather little to block out the noises from beyond. 

He heard people walking by, speaking to one another in excited whispers. Every so often he heard the flutter of the cover as the cool breeze blew through it. He should have been cold, but he wasn't. If anything he felt quite hot, as if he was catching a fever. Perhaps it had been coming for him for a while and only now managed to break through. He has been quite sleepy, too. Deciding to ask Gaius about it later he closes his eyes once only to soon be interrupted by more sounds. 

The crackling of the fire and the sound of cutlery against bowls, people talking, and other voices. Laughter and what he assumed to be prayers. There was a lot going on just beyond the white fabric, that had seen some better days if he were being honest, but he couldn't really be bothered. He was hot and his throat had surely been coated with sand while he slept, leaving an icky feeling in his mouth and a horrid taste on his tongue. 

He tried to force his eyes open again, the damned things had slipped shut while he had been thinking, but that proves much harder than he had anticipated. In fact, moving, in general, didn't seem possible in the slightest. That's when he realized the cold breeze had turned to chilliness all around. There was no more wood underneath him or blankets on top of him. To his horror, the only thing that he could still feel were his smallclothes. 

He should be worried, really. But the cool air is soothing his skin, except his right side. It was beginning to feel hotter now as if he was being brought nearer to a campfire. He tried to squirm away from the heat, always having had a preference for chilly weather but finds himself unable to move still. It didn't feel like he was in danger even as he started to pick up on voices through his hazy mind. 

His eyelids began to obey his command and slowly cracked open to stare up at the night sky, littered with stars, the amazingly bright full moon casting down her light as the trees in his peripheral vision moved away. He was being carried, then, but he felt no hands. Soon enough his eyes slipped close once more. 

The state he was in reminded him of waking up far too early as a child, with your heart heavy in your chest and not ready to truly begin beating correctly for being awake. His head felt like that too, only more as if it were underwater. As for his body, well, he knew it was there. He knew he laid flat on his back with his legs straight down and his arms resting by his side but even that was skewed as he noticed the feeling of spinning. His head went one way, and his body another as if they were detached but could still feel each other.

He wanted to reach up to his neck, no matter how dizzy the movement would make him, to feel whether his head was in fact still attached. Had he been beheaded? He didn't feel the pain he thought he would. Had he not noticed the blade hitting his neck? Had he been so frightened that he passed out right before it hit? He couldn't have, right? He would remember being beheaded, surely. Plus beheading wasn't right. No matter what the situation.

No, he would be burned. That was the fate reserved for people like him. People who broke the law of Camelot, who practiced magic, or people who merely showed anything less than complete and utter disgust at the thought of magic. He was a sorcerer, and he would meet his end in flames.

Gods, help him, was he truly that far gone? 

He had thought about it often. How he'd be discovered at some point and thrown into the dungeon for questioning until he confessed. How he would be subjected to the torture Uther reserved only for the highest of betrayals and how Arthur would be blamed for not having seen his magic earlier. Arthur would be angry with him but he wouldn't burn him. No, Arthur was kind. He would be hurt but the prince wouldn't see him burned. He would plead with his father regardless of the consequences for himself. And that had happened, his own mind reminded him.

It had happened, exactly as he believed it would, no less. Only he thought it would have been some stupid mistake or accidental magic that would reveal him but in the end, the reason he was discovered was far more impactful than that.

He had been absolutely drained as he walked back from that blasted banquet he just had to be present for. Arthur had managed to be pardoned quite early in the evening and the prince had retired to his chambers. After he had made sure the prince was ready for bed he had to rush back to the banquet hall to continue serving the noblemen and knights until the ungodly hours of the night. Finally, when Uther dismissed them all, some stumbling out rather than walking, they left. Of course, Merlin stayed behind to help clean up their mess.

Since the king had also retired to his quarters there were only some servants and a few guards left in the hall. Merlin had taken a large basket and begun collecting the leftover food that would otherwise be thrown away. When he finished the basket was entirely filled with everything from bread to ham to cheese to chicken and boiled potatoes, anything that could be transported this way, at least. He approached one of the other servant boys with the basket in his arms before plopping it down in front of him. 

"Do you know where to find Dera Fulton?"

"The lady who lives on the edge of the lower town, right? Close to the water pump?"  
Merlin smiles at the small victory, nodding in confirmation.

"Could you please take this to her?"  
"Of course," Caiwel replied easily, smiling back to the prince's servant. 

"Thanks," Merlin said gratefully. "Give her my best and tell her I'll stop by again soon."

He felt a bit guilty about sending Caiwel all the way to the lower town at this time of night, but Dera would appreciate it and he was pretty sure he would collapse if he tried taking it to her himself. As Caiwel left, Merlin sighed at the remaining task before him. It was at least another half an hour before he finally left the banquet hall; now clean for tomorrow's meeting.  
He bid goodnight to a girl named Lisarel as he spotted her walking towards the kitchens and told her not to work too late. She smiled back before disappearing behind the door.

Merlin couldn't wait to hit his bed and fall asleep like a ton of stones in a sack. He groaned internally at the thought of having to get up again at sunrise to go out and gather herbs and whatever other slimy delicacies Gaius bestowed upon him that week.  
As he stepped down from the last step of the stairs and into the courtyard he spotted a few noblemen still chatting away together while a young boy was sitting on a few steps leading to the part of the courtyard that was covered by the arches.

Then Merlin heard cracking. The stone statue above the boy collapsed it the ankles. The almost demonic-looking thing began leaning forward and with a final crack, it toppled over the edge, plummeting down to tragedy.  
Merlin stopped it. 

He used all his might and magic to keep the stone hovering above the ground as the child quickly made his escape, wailing in fear as the great mass of stone finally fell down to where he had been sitting just moments before.  
The warlock had become dizzy for a moment. His general fatigue worsening through the extra strain he'd put on himself. But he would've been damned if he hadn't saved that boy.  
Merlin realizes, then, that people are staring at him. His eyes lose the last of their gold quickly but there was no denying the flicks of shimmering dust that had come from his fingers to catch the giant demonic statue. The few people left in the courtyard still didn't move at first, stunned by what they had witnessed. Then they began to break from their frozen state, their eyes regarding Merlin with fear as they shouted bloody murder.  
So Merlin did the only thing he could think of at that moment; he ran. 

"Magic!"

"Sorcerer!"

"Monster!"

"Guards!" 

"Help!"

"Murderer!"

"Seize him!"

Merlin paid them no mind. He had to find Gaius. The wish for his bed was long forgotten as he burst through the door with his heart hammering in his chest, startling the old physician from his sleep. 

"Merlin! What is the meaning of th-" Gaius sentence was cut off by the young boy all but falling into his arms.  
"They know. They're after me. I'm sorry Gaius. It just happened, I didn't mean to. Everyone saw what I-"

The warlock kept rambling on, his short sentences and cut-off words making less and less sense to the physician who could only hold the boy tightly. Gaius heard enough to know how dire the situation was. Merlin's magic had been exposed. There was no escaping the knights that would soon come after the boy. The physician knew Merlin wouldn't resist and while he hated himself for it he had to accept that this was what his ward had chosen. It was Merlin's choice not to flee or resist his arrest and Merlin's choice to come and find him and stay with him until the moment he would be taken away.

The thought that Merlin believed him important enough to share his last moments as a free man brought about a warmth spreading through his old heart as well as the bitter iciness of helplessness and grief for the loss of his boy.  
Over the years Gaius had grown extremely fond of the boy who had been left in his care. He thought of Merlin as nothing less than his own son and that would never change.

Merlin's words had ceased, leaving him with half muttered apologies while Gaius hadn't managed to speak again at all. They remained like that until the knights' approaching footsteps sounded in the hall, then on the stairs. There were barely two knocks at the door before the piece of wood flew open.  
Sir Leon was the first to enter, subtly trying to slow the others in their march forward.  
The knight glanced to Gaius with silent apologies in his eyes before returning his gaze to Merlin who sat upright and puffy-eyed on the edge of the physician's bed.

"Merlin."

The other knights were tense as ever, fingers itching to put the sorcerer in chains before he could strike against them. Gaius understood that they had seen the horrors committed by some users of magic, but seeing that same fear rising for the warlock he knew so well made him downright angry.

Nonetheless, his apprentice swallowed down his dread, nodding stiffly to the knight before standing. The other knights were creeping forward through Sir Leon's barrier and as Merlin approached to accept his shackles Sir Owain took his chance to knock the boy down using a swift blow from the butt of his crossbow. Gaius shouted in protest, unable to help Merlin as the knights crowded over the boy to restrain his limbs. Merlin was dragged off forcefully, sir Leon's shame and apprehensiveness displayed quite obviously on his features. 

The knight, who was considered one of the best leaders aside from Arthur himself, took a moment to gather himself up, placing a hand on the physician's shoulder.  
"I'm sorry, Gaius." It was a mere simple sentiment but it was all that he could offer. When the old man didn't reply, leaving his head hung in defeat, Sir Leon finally left the physician's quarters his mind still fighting itself over the fact that the grinning fool of a servant boy who was so faithful to the prince had become a traitorous sorcerer. The two ideas simply couldn't become one in the boy he'd come to know over the many months.

As the sound of the other knights carrying off a now struggling Merlin slowly faded away Gaius was left in utter silence. There was nothing he could do. He wanted, desperately, to help the boy, but he hadn't the power to do anything and with Merlin being so close to Arthur there was no hope of convincing the king not to kill the boy. Gaius didn't sleep that night. He merely sat on the side of his bed, his heart aching as his mind conjured up what in seven hells Merlin would be subjected to come sunrise.  
Gaius hadn't cried much throughout his life, finding it a rather uncomfortable and inefficient technique of dealing with whatever reality you faced, but that night he wept like a child. 

The following days bled together. From the blows to the head and the kicks to the stomach on top of whatever techniques were used to extract his confession he truly couldn't be sure how much time had passed. He knew Leon had visited him some time ago. He was among the men that brought him back to his cell. He thought Leon said something to him but his head was swimming about and his ears left ringing from blows he could hardly even remember by this point. 

More voices appeared then but Merlin couldn't make out who it was. His eyes were closed and he was fighting to block out everything, focussing his now weak bit of magic to wherever he hurt the most. 

Footsteps came closer once again but he felt lighter with them. It was Guinevere, he knew, who spoke to Merlin in a hushed voice filled with tears and sorrow. It felt important and Merlin tried to listen to her words but it was simply impossible to hear them, much less understand them.  
He felt the dragon underneath the castle pulling at his magic, sensing something was wrong. But he couldn't even think to say he was okay. He hadn't the strength nor did he have the willingness to do so, especially considering that he be lying to a creature of the old religion.

He had confessed, earlier, to sorcery, yes, but never to evilness. Perhaps Gwen was here because she knew. Would Leon tell her? Did she hate Merlin now?  
The woman removed his neckerchief, discarding it on the floor before pressing a cloth to the side of his neck, applying more pressure than was comfortable. He couldn't figure out what she was doing for the life of him. Then he realized the people who had strapped him in the chair had held a dagger to his neck, joking about how easily they could rid the world of the cruelty of his magic. Maybe the edge had pierced his skin when he had screamed and flinched away at the extraction of his fingernail but he couldn't really remember. Everything was just haziness and pain.

It wasn't long before he was alone again. He remained alone for a long time. Perhaps it was simply going by slowly, or perhaps his mind was telling him he deserved to feel the pain. Perhaps he knew that he was a traitor to the kingdom, to Uther, To Arthur. Maybe his body knew that he didn't deserve the release unconsciousness brought for everything he had done. Maybe he didn't deserve the relief of not feeling it. So he accepted it, staying where he was for however long he would be left there. 

It had become morning again; somehow Merlin felt the shift now but he was coming in and out of his own mind, never awake long enough to fully register it. He heard the far-off footsteps of guards and the ringing of their chainmail armor. They proved to be closer than he thought when the harsh hands picking him up were preceded only by the angry screech of the door to his cell. Merlin prayed to the gods they wouldn't continue torturing him, he didn't think even the dragon himself could bring him back after that.

But it wasn't torture that awaited him. Merlin flinched roughly at the stinging of sunlight, half recognizing the feeling of the cobblestone courtyard under his feet. He didn't manage to place his feet on the stair to try and prevent them from slamming into the edge of each step but he did manage to get his head in a somewhat more upright position. 

He heard a commanding voice rush through the air right before the two knights held him just slightly higher. Had Leon told them to? Why would he? It truly baffled Merlin's already messed up mind so he wrote it off as something he would just have to figure out later. 

It didn't take long before he heard the familiar creek of the doors leading to the throne room. It smelled like breakfast but instead of growling, his stomach flipped at the mere thought of eating. The knights held him tightly by his upper arms, causing the already-present bruises to sting but let Merlin stand on his own feet. He forced strength into his legs to keep him upright. It took a lot of effort but looking down at his bare toes seemed to help. Speaking of bare toes, where were his boots? He hadn't lost them, he was sure, simply misplaced them. Maybe Gaius would know where they are. He'd have to ask the man. Dear gods, he was standing in front of the king without his shoes, what would he think?

Uther was speaking, now, and Merlin realized he'd forgotten to bow to the king entirely. He thought Uther would have pointed it out but the man didn't seem to dwell on it. His face was twisted in distrust and hate as his voice barely broke through the strange barrier that possessed Merlin's mind. He vaguely heard something about having committed a crime against the kingdom. Had someone been caught doing magic? Where were they? Merlin couldn't see anyone. 

"And to think I made you Arthur's servant"

The realization hit him with the full force of a galloping stallion being spurred on in the middle of a battle. Arthur.  
Uther was talking to him. Arthur would be blamed.  
It was Merlin who was about to receive judgment for his crimes. Did Arthur know? Was he here? Did Uther lock him away as well? 

"Arthur knew nothing!" Merlin exclaimed, stopping the king's sentence short. Whatever the man was saying didn't matter, he had to tell the king that his son had nothing to do with this. He had to make sure Arthur was safe. If Uther had harmed the prince because of his sorcery Merlin would never forgive himself.  
The warlock became aware of the metallic taste on his tongue and the dryness of his throat, coughing as the silence he had shocked them into hung in the air.

He regained his breath and tried again.  
"Arthur did-, didn't know. He's not to blame. Please, don't," 

Merlin had to take a breath, steadying the rising bile in his throat at the effort it took him to talk and stand at the same time. His ankle was killing him but he had to make sure Arthur was safe first. He couldn't give in.  
"Please don't harm him, because of me."

Uther's eyes bore into his own, even though Merlin barely managed to keep them open.

"Why would Arthur be punished for your treason? You betrayed him as much as you betrayed me."

Uther's voice still hardly broke through but Merlin managed to piece together his words enough to understand them. So Arthur would be safe? 

"Promise me. Arthur's safe." Merlin repeated.  
"Please." Be begged the king to not be as cruel as he knew the man was, hoping against all hope that he would listen. Merlin held his breath and watched the king. Albeit apprehensively and clearly deep in thought, the man finally nodded, and Merlin sank to his knees, coughing up more of that metallic taste. He must be bleeding, he realized as a few drops of red appeared on the ground beneath him.

The men who had held him up now held him down and Uther asked him once again to confess to his crimes of sorcery.  
"Yes. I confess."

A few people of the court gasped, others took a step back. Gaius could do nothing but watch, refusing his tears as he looked upon what was left of Merlin.

"Then, by the laws of this land and for the protection of its people, I, Uther Pendragon, sentence you, for your crimes of high treason and sorcery, to death, by means of fire."

Merlin stared blankly at the ground before him, counting and recounting the few red spots. The number wouldn't sink into his mind. Before he could complete counting again something shifted. Instead of the few red spots, a washed red shirt appeared before him. It was clearly a high-end fabric but starting to get toward the end of its life. For a noble, at least. 

Arthur's eyes met his, and he tried to smile at his devastated face.  
He felt the guards start to pull him away again. Everything felt so weak but he had to show Arthur that he had seen him. That he knew he was there. Merlin managed to slur Arthur's name before the prince disappeared from his vision.

Four men carried him now, each holding one of his limbs. The pain was numbing out again and soon Merlin would lose consciousness. That was fine.

Merlin remembered whatever his dazed mind could. which was more than he had hoped. But he didn't remember waking up. Not after the kicks and punches rained down on him again. He remembered the blurry scene of Arthur looking back at him with a defeated look on his face and how Gaius had held him. How Leon had been nice enough to give him a chance to surrender and how Gwen's voice sounded. But he didn't remember waking up the next morning to be placed at the stake. He didn't remember them lighting it. Nor did he have any memory of the smoke rising to meet him as the crowd spurred on the flames to burn hotter. He didn't recall the heat of the fire as it licked his ankles or the burning of his skin.  
He didn't remember the smoke entering his lungs and burning his throat or the smell of burning flesh filling his nostrils. 

His mind apparently thought this was the opportune time to remind Merlin of phlegm and he pulled a face of disgust before almost chuckling regardless of the pain in his, well, everywhere. In doing so he earned some rather worried-sounding sentences from the people who must be carrying him. He didn't hear what they said, but he heard several voices quickly exchanging a few words. He almost fell back into the haze but he wanted to be awake. He wanted to know what was going on. Why he couldn't feel the hands that were carrying him and why it took all of his might to keep his eyes open or perhaps even why they were carrying him in the first place, or where to. Honestly, there were so many things he wanted to stay awake for but in the end, none of those really bothered him.

"Arthur. Be ready."  
Arthur. 

His mind fought for clarity as that name rung through his ears. Whose voice was that? He doesn't think he's heard it before.  
Then, with startling caution, two hands pressed lightly against his back. He should have probably shouted in pain at the contact with the wounds but instead, he merely tensed before allowing himself to relax once more.

"Good. Steady now. Not too quickly."

Merlin realized he was hearing the sound of a small waterfall trickling just beyond him. Good, he needed a bath. Maybe he could take one after his body stopped hurting.  
He felt his feet being lowered down and gently eased into the water.  
It didn't matter how gently it happened. It hurt like hell and Merlin groaned loudly at the water, which somehow felt far too hot and freezing cold at the same time. He clenched his teeth at hearing a rather stuttering breath coming from behind him. Whoever's hands were currently on his back was not enjoying the sight before them.

Merlin could only imagine. The deep gashes and bruises left by whips and sticks on his tense skin. Not to mention the burns and the puss that would surely be showing from them. Or the infected scratches on the small of his back. He felt sorry for the poor bastard that had to witness it, but he was grateful nonetheless that they were willing to do this.  
Slowly he was lowered into the water. Would they let him drown? He knew it wasn't uncommon for sorcerers to be drowned instead of burned but surely Uther would prefer the latter, if only for the spectacle of the flames. 

The water no longer felt like it was pricking thousands of needles into his skin, it felt soothingly warm but not to such an extent that it was actually hot. It was a little over lukewarm, too cold for Arthur's taste. How that man could bathe in near-boiling water was absolutely beyond Merlin.

His train of thought was cut short as the water reached his thighs, there were some seriously unpleasant injuries to be found and Merlin wasn't looking forward to the water reaching his back either. After a few more moments he was lowered again, ever so slowly, into the water. He grit his teeth to stop himself from shouting but it proved unsuccessful as a scream tore from him nonetheless. He knew the pain would lessen soon and the water would help clean his wounds but it hurt so badly he couldn't help but beg them to stop.

Tears traveled freely from his closed eyes as the water reached his back. He sobbed and pleaded with whoever was doing this but his words fell on deaf ears as the water reached just under his shoulder blades.  
One of the hands on his shoulders left, easing the pressure, only to return open-handed on the side of his ribs. The other hand followed soon and while the new placement was better on his skin, it didn't help the pain he felt.

Lastly, his shoulders were lowered into the water, earning another scream from the warlock.  
The trembling hands on his ribs moved once again and now he could feel the body that was attached to the hands move as well. The person moved through the water slowly, as if not to startle him, placing one hand just above the sorcerer's behind, and the other at the top of his neck to support his head. The hand on his lower back created a funny, almost ticklish feeling as the little bit of water trapped between the surfaces was sucking them closer together. 

His eyes managed to open up a little bit again, showing the full moon shining down. He saw the reflection on the water in his peripheral vision, fighting the urge to stretch out his hand and pretend to scoop up the moon to save it from drowning. He just barely began reaching out when someone called his name. He heard it loud and clear even though his ears were also submerged in water that seemed to have become pitch-black ink in the darkness of the night.

"I've got you, Merlin. You're safe."


	12. Chapter 12

It had been a strange and downright scary sight to see Merlin floating through the air as if he were still being carried; only, those who did remained invisible to his eyes. The flicks of dust that had surrounded him sparkled, every so often, in the light of a moon that seemed so much more brighter than usual. Arthur had heard Morgana and Guinevere exchange a few words as Merlin's face twisted in amused disgust and the prince couldn't help but wonder what was going on in the warlock's mind. Odhran had told him that Merlin wouldn't be conscious at all during this process, kept under his own mind with magic, but it seemed Merlin managed to fight it still.

Arthur had been caught entirely unmoving, as if in a trance, as Merlin hovered above the surface of the water. It had been quite a pleasant temperature, which was likely also due to magic since the water in this small spring should have been freezing this time of year, so Arthur merely counted his blessings.

That is, until Odhran warned him to 'be ready'. Please, he'd been ready since he stepped into that spring and waited for time to tick by. Still though, the small warning cleared up his wandering thoughts, so Arthur figured it was for the best. He reached out toward his servant, wincing at the sight of the boy's back.  
He had seen torture before, and the whipping that often accompanied it, but this wasn't just a punishment. Someone had enjoyed bringing this pain to their victim and Arthur had a few ideas who it might have been.  
One thing was for sure. Once he returned to Camelot, he would ensure that these people were punished, accordingly, for their crimes.

He saw Merlin tense with a small hiss before relaxing against his hands once more. While the druids were holding the sorcerer up with their magic, his hands were a mere precaution for if Merlin proved strong enough to break their hold on him. It didn't seem likely at first but then, he shouldn't have woken up at all so perhaps there was more to Odhran's warning than he knew.

Realizing that Merlin was now fighting their magical grip Odhran instructed the other druids and Morgana, as well as Gaius, to begin lowering Merlin into the water. He groaned in pain as his feet and ankles dipped under the surface and Arthur could only imagine what it felt like. He'd received his fair share of wounds, training injuries and other painful encounters that left him clenching his teeth against the stinging sensation of the first bath that followed them, but he had never been subjected to the torture his father was so proud of. The king had claimed it was one of the main reasons Camelot was at peace. Arthur had agreed with his father at the time, his insides twisting at just how wrong he knew it was.

Arthur's breath caught in his throat and he barely managed to force himself to keep sucking in air. He knew all too well what happened. Now, seeing the injuries up close, he could tell with almost frightening precision what tools had been used on Merlin's back. It disgusted him but a much larger part of him wished he could simply take the pain from his servant. He wanted to do anything and everything to ensure that Merlin knew he was safe. He would fight the world if only he could save Merlin from whatever destiny had been planned for him. He would challenge the gods themselves, if only to spend a few more hours with his friend.

Arthur had to shake his thoughts, focusing instead on the boy who still hovered halfway out of the water. The liquid finally reached his back and though Merlin was struggling to hold back his shout Arthur's heart ached at hearing it barely a second later.  
Odhran told the druids to keep going now, wanting this to be over with, as Merlin began to sob. He begged them to stop with whatever half words he could tear from his mouth. He cried and Arthur bit back the stinging in his own eyes. Crying wouldn't help Merlin now.

As the water reached Merlin's shoulder blades the druids stopped the boy's descent for a few moments, giving Arthur the time to maneuver his hands to rest on Merlin's lower ribs. There were less cuts there but the added pressure on the bruises likely didn't make it any less painful. Arthur couldn't stop the shaking of his hands, even numbed out on whatever knock-out magic the druids used Merlin would notice it. He just hoped it didn't cause him any more pain.

It wasn't long before Odhran directed the druids to ease Merlin into the water entirely, earning another pained scream from the warlock as the liquid stung the gashes in his flesh.  
Arthur moved once again, now standing at Merlin's side, holding him up in the water as the Druid's magic grip on him faded away slowly. Merlin's body only rested in his hands now, and the raven haired moron began to wake up bit by bit.

He reached out lightly, his eyes having traveled to the reflection of the moon. The exhaustion was evident in all that Merlin was and yet Arthur could practically hear the thousands of thoughts running through his head. The Prince wondered, again, what the warlock could be thinking about and only barely stopped himself from asking. Instead he called out the boy's name, deciding to promise him safety.

As the warlock's mind took notice of Arthur's presence for the first time Merlin blinked slowly, turning his head.  
The sorcerer didn't manage to really lock his gaze on Arthur's but he smiled up at the prince's face, either way, offering a weak 'hey' in greeting.  
It sounded so simple, too simple for everything that had happened, too mundane for everything that was happening, and entirely dismissive of everything that was yet to happen. However, it seemed the prince couldn't come up with anything better, either, so he settled on repeating the word back to the boy.

A few more moments pass by before Arthur hears Odhran's voice carried over to him.  
He breaks away from Merlin to confirm to the leader that he could proceed. He spotted Morgana sitting down, looking rather drained from using her still growing magic.

It felt odd to know that she possessed magic and, yet, somehow it was quite fitting as well. Arthur was wary of the ability, he couldn't deny that, and it would take a while to get used to it but he trusted Morgana, and Gaius. Obviously, there was no question whether he trusted Merlin or not. But knowing that Morgana would also grow to be a powerful witch, in time as Gaius pointed out, was both exciting and strangely creepy. Next thing you know Uther himself is secretly a wizard, killing all others simply to keep his secret. The fact that it didn't seem entirely out of character for his father made Arthur realize just how much he didn't like the man. He loved him, but he did not like him at all. However, that was something to be dealt with later.

The druids had taken their positions around the spring, each carrying flower crowns and loose petals from the dandelions they had picked earlier as well as other herbs and plants. One by one, these were placed on the surface of the water. Arthur himself had received a bracelet made from small bendable twigs. They had somehow managed to weave it in such a way that the little bit of space on the inside of the twigs contained several petals. He'd actually hoped it was made by magic, but no, this was the craftsmanship of one of the elder women in the camp. She'd spent a long time making it and Arthur couldn't thank her enough.

So he wore one on either of his wrists, having covered them up with Merlin's neckerchief and another piece of cloth to make sure nothing would poke too uncomfortable at the boy's skin as the Prince held him up in the water.

The petals and flowery rings drifted across the surface of the spring and before long Odhran stepped forward, the water reaching up to his knees and soaking his embroidered cloak. The man paid it no mind , though, and simply took a few moments to stand and breathe.

Arthur felt the shift in the air, then, as Odhran called the elements to him drawing from their power.  
He took fire from the candle he held, he took from the water in which he was partially submerged, he took from cold night's air and from the earth that muddied his feet.  
The elements lend their power and only grew stronger as he began to speak.  
With all the strength the man held Arthur would have expected his voice to sound powerful and commanding. But instead it was never louder than how the man spoke any time of the day. Still the words rang clearly through the air for all to hear. 

"Brigid of the sacred flame."  
Arthur's hair stood on end. despite the pleasant temperature of the water a shiver ran across his body and he had to suppress his shoulders from moving too much. Reminding himself that he was still the one responsible for holding Merlin as the ritual continued.

"We come tonight to call your name."

He might feel a bit tense but Merlin seemed to be relaxing more and more so Arthur decided to focus on the warlock instead of the multiple voices joining in with other poems. Odhran's voice drowned them out in any case but it felt like chanting even though everyone was speaking their own words.

"Aid us in our magical rite,"

Merlin's breath suddenly became near non- existent. Arthur no longer heard the struggle with which the boy would take the air into his body and his chest seemed to stop moving.

"Bless us with your presence tonight."

The prince's worry increased as Merlin's eyes shut once again, sensing the slowing of the boy's heartbeat.

"Brigid, goddess of the sacred well,"

Arthur wanted to call out to Merlin, to Gaius. to Odhran. He wanted to shout at anyone to stop, tell them that something was wrong.

"Help us turn our mystical spell."

Odhran's voice simply drones on, now joined by those whose own poem had come to an end.

"Keep our home and hearts with care,"

Something shifts again. Arthur can feel the energy around him, thrumming with power. He could swear it was illuminating the spring itself, but the water remained as dark as it had before.

"So we may feel your magic there."

Everything felt alive and Arthur closed his eyes for a moment, reveling in the feeling. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before but it felt so familiar. It felt like safety and protection.  
Everything was quiet for a few long moments where nobody dared to move. Some remained silent even though they weren't aware of the presence that filled them. Others were practically grinning with the overwhelming sensation. Morgana had a smile on her lips and Gaius stood in awe as Guinevere simply remained silent. It seemed not everyone was as perceptive to what was happening. Odhran himself stood humbly with his head bowed quietly repeating the poem under his breath.

Merlin stirred in Arthur's arms, his head turning to where the reflection of the moon in the water became distorted by the ripples that were created. Arthur could have sworn his heart grew double in size at the smile that appeared on the boy's lips before he broke away to stare at that same reflection.  
It was mesmerizing. The full moon rippled and warped into broken pieces and for a split second it seemed like a woman's face, bearing a kind smile, appeared in the white light on the water.

Arthur jumped as Odhran began speaking again, now much louder. He spoke to no one as he asked them to accept their offerings and this feast held in their honor. The other druids, meanwhile, retreated back a few paces where they had left offerings of herbs, flowers, drink, puppets and the woven squares known as Brigid's crosses. Arthur had learned that usually Brigid was honored during the feast of Imbolc as a triple goddess but that she could be called upon to aid healing of those she deemed worthy. Arthur hadn't had the guts to ask what happened to those who were deemed unworthy.

He wasn't worried about Merlin. The gods couldn't judge him unworthy. It would be ridiculous for them to think Merlin of all people wouldn't be worth giving their help. But Arthur was in there with him. There's the rub.  
It was Arthur's father who was, in large part, responsible for the extermination of the old religion and her practitioners, as well as he himself, in all his naïveté. His heritage would not be one the gods looked upon kindly. He may be changed now, but did that even matter? Even now Merlin was paying for his mistakes and if gods decided Arthur's punishment was to watch his friend die it would surely be his downfall.

Arthur felt the prickling of treacherous tears in the back of his eyes, blinking rapidly to push them down before they disappeared entirely at a warmth that seemed wrap around him. He knew Merlin could feel it too. That much was obvious by the small contented sigh the boy have as his eyes once again looked away, off into the night sky. Arthur's shoulders relaxed more. He broke his eyes away from Merlin's form. Closing them before tilting his head back and merely breathing in the crisp night air.

He no longer heard what Odhran said. He felt calm. There were no thoughts left in his mind, except for one. "Save him;"

Arthur doesn't know how long he stood there but by the time his mind returned to his body none of the druids surrounded the spring anymore. The moon no longer had a place above them but had disappeared from view and Merlin, still looking battered and beaten, laid fast asleep in Arthur's arms. He stood there waiting for the magic to take away the sorcerer's wounds, but nothing happened. There was no surge of energy, no glowing dust, no bright light, no figure draped in mist, no nothing. Merlin didn't look any better than when he had first entered the water. In fact, were Arthur unable too feel the slight movement in Merlin's body that indicated the boy was breathing he would have assumed the sorcerer to be dead. 

He was still so much paler than usual and cold to the touch. Had he always been this cold? It reminded Arthur of those who bled out on the battlefield, they always turned cold so much quicker. His mind must be sick inside of his head. Comparing his friend, who was still very much alive to the corpses of fallen knights lying in pools of their own blood. It was a horrid thought but he couldn't shake it, and before he knew it his mind took him back to the druid circle and the broken altar.

The knife in his chest, the blood dripping into the goblet, the bird eating his heart and chirping happily. Arthur moved his left hand from underneath Merlin's lower back, letting the boy's hips submerge entirely as he made sure his head remained above the surface of the water. he pulled The warlock against his chest, carefully draping Merlin's arms over his shoulders as the boy's head fell forward to look at Arthur's back. Or that is what he would have seen if he hadn't been entirely out of it. Arthur began to move through the water, quietly and carefully, allowing for the subtle graze of water against both of their skin. It was always a feeling that had calmed him down. It felt soft and gentle and he hoped Merlin would appreciate it if he could sense anything that was happening. 

Having Merlin's feet on his own made moving about just slightly easier and so Arthur slowly walked around the body of water. He pointed out the different offerings that had been left on the edge of the water, speaking quietly to Merlin as if he were simply on the verge of sleeping and not possibly dead in his grip. He didn't feel like death, not like when Arthur had carried Merlin on his back through the stream after their escape. But the prince still found himself frightened by just how still his servant was in his grip. Their bodies pressed together made for a pleasant warmth, even in the chilly night air and the water that had cooled down considerably since Arthur first entered. 

The prince smiled as he passed by a particularly nice dandelion flower crown floating in the water. He pulled it out, letting the water drip from it for a few moments before placing it on top of Merlin's head with an amused chuckle. He watched a few droplets fall down, cascading down Merlin's back and shimmering in the orange light of the bonfire a little while back towards the camp. Arthur realized, in that moment, that Merlin's arms no longer hung limply from his shoulders. Instead the boy had found the strength to move and the prince became acutely aware of their proximity as the sorcerer's fingers seemed to find grip near his shoulder blades.  
He could have cried right then and there, feeling Merlin's heartbeat grow slightly stronger pressed against his own. The boy sighed and Arthur couldn't stop himself from wrapping his arms around Merlin's frame, seemingly trying to pull the boy even closer to him.  
He wouldn't ever let go, Arthur promised himself. He would never again let go of Merlin.

-"Nor I You"-

Finally, warm tears slid from the prince's eyes, leisurely making their way down his cheeks before dripping down into the water below as the prince held back a sob born from happiness.  
Arthur's hands moved on their own accord, one wrapping around Merlin's ribs as the other found a spot high up on the boy's back, always careful of the wounds that were still present. 

Arthur repeated the promise like a mantra, like a spell, until it became engraved on his very soul.  
He wouldn't let Merlin down. He wouldn't let himself down. He would prove to everyone in Camelot that Merlin, in all his magical ways, was an extraordinary creature. He would prove that magic did belong at the heart of the great city. He would start with his own kingdom and after that all of Albion would believe it, even if it took eternity.

The prince's laugh faltered to a contented smile as Merlin's warm breath fell upon his back. He was alive and fighting. He wouldn't give up. Merlin would live and really, how could he possibly care about anything else in that moment?


End file.
